Twelve Days
by RussianWolf7
Summary: Draco has a secret admirer sending him gifts for the twelve days of Christmas. Who could it possibly be, and does Draco return their affection? Harry/Draco Christmas fluff :)


**A/N:** Merry Christmas all! I barely had time to finish writing this and my other Christmas story, and last night my editor stopped speaking to me, so if there are extra mistakes, I hereby apologize.

But, for all my Drarry fans out there who've had to contend with getting updates from Unknown Effects, here's a super duper flufftastic Harry/Draco story for you! Takes place eighth year, no relation to any of my other stories.

Enjoy, and Merry Christmas!

**Day Zero**

**1**

"Come on, Harry," Ron pressed, picking up a box of truffles and examining it. "It'll be great."

"No," Harry said firmly. "No, it will not be great. It'll be humiliating and awful and I'm not doing this."

"You've spent the whole bloody year pining," Ron replied. "I'm sick of it. Does Hermione like coconut? I know she either loves it or hates it, I just can't remember which."

"I have not been _pining_," Harry said. "And she loves it. Remember macaroons last week?"

Ron's eyes lit up. "Oh, yeah! Okay, great. That's six days down, six to go. Do you really think he's going to say no? It's twelve bloody days of Christmas. It's impossible not to be wooed by that. How many days do you think I can get away with chocolates?"

"One," Harry replied. "You ask me that every store. One book, one box of chocolates, one pair of earrings. One of each."

"Pick out a box of chocolates," Ron demanded. "Do it now. If you don't, I'll tell him myself. In the middle of the Great Hall. Tonight. Do you want that? Do you want everyone to know? Do you want him to find out that way?"

Harry glared at him. "You wouldn't."

"I absolutely would," Ron said. "I told you, I'm sick to death of your whining. Twelve days of Christmas. Twelve _anonymous_ days. It starts tomorrow. You're out of time to drag your heels. We're not leaving Honeydukes until you pick something."

"For bloody Merlin's fucking beard," Harry grumbled. He pulled the first thing he saw off the shelf. "There, okay? It's a gift."

"Peppermints in a tin snowman? Suppose you could do worse."

Harry looked down at what he was holding and groaned. "Ron, please—"

"I'm not kidding. I'll tell everyone if you don't go through with this," he threatened. "Do you understand me? _Everyone_. Either everyone finds out tonight or you give him twelve _anonymous_ gifts."

"It's not going to stay anonymous and you know it," Harry snapped. "You and Hermione are going to gang up on me on Christmas Day and force me to tell him."

"Well, of course," Ron replied. "Still, though. Tonight in front of everyone, or in twelve days, just the two of you? Your choice."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I hate you."

"Fine. Now start shopping."

**2**

Harry and Ron were camped out in their dorm wrapping gifts. Neville, Dean and Seamus were hanging around, laughing at the sentimentality of it, and bothering Harry relentlessly about who his gifts were for. Harry stayed silent, angrily wrapping the bloody peppermint snowman. It wasn't fucking _square_, how the bloody hell was he supposed to get it to look decent?

"This is highly suspicious," Seamus said, dropping to the floor and going through the pile of gifts. "Peppermints, fine. Chocolates, yes. A crystalized rose? Stupid, but normal. All this, though? Tentacula leaves? An advanced potions book? What the hell, Harry?"

He rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Seamus. Leave me alone."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to woo Malfoy," Seamus said.

"For fuck's sake," Harry muttered. "Really? Malfoy?"

"Or Snape," Dean suggested helpfully. "They're the only two daft enough to enjoy potions."

"You're ridiculous," Harry snapped. "Leave me alone."

"There are only eleven gifts here," Neville said suddenly. "What about the other one?"

Harry ground his teeth together. "Maybe, just maybe, I didn't want to broadcast this through the entire tower," he said. "Potentially it's somewhere else, somewhere you can't see them."

Ron grinned, carefully labeling a small package _Day Three_. "It's too obvious," he said. "He'd give himself away."

"You all need to _shut up_," Harry yelled. "This is none of your business! Besides, Ron's making me." He scrawled _Day Two_ on the paper and set it aside. He moved onto day two—a candle that came in a box. A _square_ box. Harry relaxed a little.

Dean picked up a box containing an eagle quill. "Must be someone stuck up," he mused. "An eagle quill? Really?"

Harry snatched it back. "Stop it. It's not about being stuck up, it's about nice things."

"You're terrible at wrapping, Harry," Seamus said, looking at the mangled snowman. "Whoever you're trying to woo isn't going to be impressed."

Harry gave up. Or overreacted. It was hard to tell which. He whipped out his wand and cast _Muffliato_ and a concealment charm. This was humiliating enough without commentary.

"Ron, I hate you," he mumbled, finishing with the candle and moving onto the quill. "I really fucking hate you."

"You won't be saying that on Christmas," Ron replied. "Not when he melts into your arms."

"He's not going to _melt_," Harry said. "He's going to _punch me_."

"Not after everything you've gotten him," Ron argued. "Aside from being a materialistic prick, your gifts are actually decent. You'll be fine."

"I won't," Harry protested. "This is going to be awful."

"You're so pessimistic," Ron said lightly. "Have a little faith, would you?"

"No."

**Day One**

**3**

Harry didn't want to go to breakfast. He _really_ didn't want to go. Ron yelled at him for a solid ten minutes before Hermione came up and took his place. Eventually they had to resort to threatening to announce it to the Great Hall, which Harry was getting really sick of but had no way to combat. So he got out of bed, got dressed and trudged down to the hall, Ron and Hermione each taking an arm and preventing him from running away.

They walked in just as the post arrived. Harry hurried to an empty seat and busied himself with breakfast. He couldn't look up. He refused. Pancakes and orange juice, that's all he would do. Twelve days of this. That was a pretty small number, twelve. Less than two weeks. And he didn't _have_ to tell him on Christmas day. He could just tell Ron and Hermione he had been rejected and didn't want to talk about it.

Ron elbowed him. "Harry, look."

"No."

"I'm going to describe it to you if you don't watch," Ron threatened.

"Fine. Whatever. I'm not looking."

"Okay fine," Ron said irritably. "I didn't want to have to skip breakfast to narrate your life to you, but I'm just that good a friend. A barn owl just swooped down and dropped the package off in front of him. He's smirking, showing off to his friends that he's already getting gifts, I assume. Now he looks confused, probably because there's no note or card or anything. I think—hang on."

Harry waited none-too-patiently, stabbing his pancakes with his fork. "What is it?" he asked eventually.

"Crabbe pointed at something on package, and then Pansy took it from Malfoy and is—er, I'm not sure. Looking confused and angry and jealous. Malfoy snatched it back, and now he's opening it."

Harry couldn't stop the blush from creeping up his neck, and he continued to mutilate his pancakes. "And?"

"Now he looks more confused." Ron snorted. "He's probably never gotten such a cheap gift before. Pansy's reaching for one of the ends, and he slapped her hand away. Seems he wants his gift all to himself. What a git. Anyway, he's—"

Ron's words were drowned out by the blast from the cracker. It echoed through the hall, followed by a ringing silence and all heads turned towards the Slytherin table.

Ron laughed. "The smoke's cleared. He's standing up and taking a bow. Show off. Like a bloody cracker is a big deal. Now everyone's laughing—"

"I can _hear,_" Harry snapped.

"Fine, fine. I'm sorry. Anyway, he's putting on the top hat. You should probably look up, I bet you'd find it dashing or something I don't want to think about it. Slytherin colored balloons, those're by the ceiling now. I can't see if there's anything else."

Harry glanced around. Everyone had returned to their previous conversations, and it seemed safe enough to sneak a peek over at the Slytherins.

That was how Harry learned Draco Malfoy looked really, really good in a top hat. It didn't help that he was smirking, or had a slight blush, and that his eyes were sparkling. Harry rolled his eyes at how pleased Malfoy was with just a Christmas cracker. But, well. He did look very attractive.

Harry returned to his pancakes.

"Was that really so bad?" Ron asked.

"Shut up," Harry snapped.

Then Hermione's gift arrived, and it was also a cracker. The following explosive bang and cloud of smoke served to distract Harry, at least a little bit. A shower of snow fell over her, which made Harry smile, and the bright pink wizards hat she donned was enough to make him laugh. He'd just focus on her hat, and not Malfoy's, because that was much better. She also got a kazoo, though Seamus took it from her before she could give it a go and spent the rest of lunch being as loud and obnoxious as possible. Annoying, yes. But any distraction was welcome.

**4**

Harry saw Malfoy again at lunch. He purposefully arrived early to avoid him, but it didn't work. The Great Hall was mostly empty, making him all too obvious. He was leaning against the end of the table with Blaise, probably waiting for the rest of his friends to arrive. Harry stumbled, and Ron had to grab his arm to prevent him from falling.

"It's just a hat," Hermione said quietly. "Is it really that bad?"

"No," Harry snapped, taking his seat.

"Good, I'm glad it doesn't bother you," she said, adjusting her bright pink hat.

"Well it doesn't," Harry said. He could do this. He'd just have to keep his eyes on his meal and he'd be fine. As long as he didn't see Malfoy, there wouldn't be a problem.

"Hey, Granger!" Harry squeezed his eyes shut. The last thing he needed was his voice in his head. "Got the short end of the hat stick?"

"I'm enjoying myself quite a bit, thank you very much," she replied loftily. "I find making people laugh is the greatest gift of all."

Malfoy snorted. "I drastically prefer to garner attention by flaunting my looks, rather than having to draw attention away from my—"

"Watch it, Malfoy," Ron interrupted with a glare. "Don't you dare insult her."

"Aw, the Weasel's standing up for its girlfriend," Malfoy simpered. "How very touching. If I hadn't spent the whole day being fawned over, I daresay I wouldn't have the patience to put up with you."

Harry was not pleased. He hadn't meant for _everyone_ to be distracted by Malfoy's looks. Nor had he expected him to be such a prat, but he supposed it was only his fault for feeding his ego.

"Stop it," Harry said. "Come on. Professor Slughorn is already looking over here. Do you really want to spend the holiday in detention?"

"Harry's right," Hermione said, laying a hand on Ron's arm. "He's not worth our time."

Malfoy said something under his breath, and Blaise snickered, but at least that was the end of that.

And while Harry did sneak one glance at Malfoy during lunch, it was only one, and nobody noticed. All in all, he felt pretty good about it.

**4**

Dinner was not good.

Dean and Seamus sat opposite Harry, sporting identical knowing smirks. Harry didn't like the look of that at all, and struck up a very loud, very boring conversation with Hermione about their potions homework. Dean and Seamus waited patiently, and when Hermione had finally talked herself out, Harry started in with Ron on who would be playing at the next World Cup. But Ron's mouth was too full to talk properly, and Harry found himself at the mercy of his housemates.

"Well," Seamus said.

"That was subtle," Dean added.

"The very _pinnacle_ of subtlety," Seamus continued.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said, focusing on his food.

"You decide to pull some twelve days of Christmas stunt, and lo—the very next day Malfoy gets a gift," Seamus said.

"We were watching the mail very carefully," Dean said. "Only Malfoy, Hermione and a third-year Ravenclaw got packages. After some reconnaissance, we ascertained that her mail was nothing more than a book she needed for extra credit."

Harry stared at them. "Reconnaissance?"

"We have connections in every house, Harry," Seamus said seriously. "If we need to know something, we'll know it."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're bloody ridiculous. Do you really think I'd send a package during breakfast, when everyone could see? I'm not that daft.

Dean's face fell, but Seamus was still smirking.

"That's not what you said last night," he replied. "Before you charmed us out, you were quite clearly complaining about how everyone would notice."

"Yeah, and then I changed my mind," Harry said slowly, as if Seamus was entirely stupid. "I might be slow, but I'm not an idiot."

Seamus eyed him carefully. "We'll be keeping an eye on the situation."

"A very _close_ eye," Dean added.

"Whatever."

On the way back to the Tower, Ron glanced around to make sure they were alone, and grinned. "Nice save, Harry. Just so I know, when _did_ you send the gift?"

Harry flushed. "Er. Now, just after dinner. So they wouldn't brag about it in the middle of the Great Hall."

"Too bad you didn't actually do that," Hermione said. "That would have been quite clever."

"But then he wouldn't have gotten to ogle Malfoy all day," Ron said, still grinning. "Isn't that right, Harry?"

"Whatever."

"And you wouldn't be able to see his face when he opens the packages," Hermione said.

"Even if you need me to narrate it to you," Ron added.

"_What. Ever_."

**Day Two**

**5**

Harry didn't need to be dragged out of bed, or marched down to the Great Hall that morning. Dean and Seamus refused to leave the dorm until Harry did, and then they trailed him and Ron and Hermione down to the Hall. Harry quickly found a seat by the end of the table and pulled Ron and Hermione into the only empty seats. Seamus shot him a glare before he and Dean continued down the table, not finding seats until halfway down.

"I don't like sitting with all these first years," Ron said uncomfortably. "They're staring."

"I don't care," Harry replied. "I'm used to it. So are you. Just shut up and eat."

Hermione smacked his arm. "Just because you're nervous doesn't mean you have the right to be a prat."

"I wasn't—"

"Oh, look," Ron interrupted. "The post is here."

Harry focused on his bacon. "Don't stare at him this time," he said quietly. "You'll make everyone think it's you sending the gifts." He paused. "No, wait. Do that."

"I am sending gifts," Ron replied. "To Hermione. My girlfriend. Anyway, his package just got dropped off. Wanna hear about it or not?"

"Ron, Harry's not wrong, though he doesn't know why," Hermione said. "Everyone knows we're an item, but if you openly stare at Malfoy, it will be suspicious. Stop looking at him and let me do it."

"But it's _funny_," Ron protested.

"Would one of you just tell me what's going on?" Harry interrupted testily.

"He's looking for a label again," Hermione said. "I don't know why, since the wrapping paper is the same, and since it says _Day Two_, but apparently he's not that clever. Now he's tapping the box with his wand. You did put protection charms on them, didn't you, Harry? So he won't be able to trace them back to you?"

"Yes," Harry said. "That was the first thing I thought of, before I even let Ron talk me into this bollocks. Now what?"

"He's holding up the gift and—well—I'm sorry, but I think he's making fun of the wrapping," she said uncomfortably. "But now he's opening it, and—Harry, are you sure you want to know?"

Harry tightened his hold on his fork. "Stop it, you're only making it worse. Just come out with it."

"Well, I think he's laughing at the cliché of peppermints in a snowman," Hermione said apologetically. "I can't hear what he's saying, mind you, so I could be wrong, but I know that smirk, and, well, all of his friends are laughing. But he's having a peppermint, so that's good. And I'm pretty sure he's gloating, because Pansy tried to take one from the tin and he wouldn't let her."

"Yeah, it's not all bad," Ron chipped in. "He looks happy, actually. He's still smirking, but it doesn't look as mean as it usually does. For Malfoy, that's saying something."

"Ron's right," Hermione said. "And he's being quite possessive. Not that he usually goes around sharing, but—oh, look! My package!"

That ended all further analysis. Harry carefully kept his gaze away from the Slytherin table. This was a much better gift than the cracker; anything that didn't add to his attractiveness was much better.

**6**

Dean and Seamus cornered him in the common room that night.

"Malfoy got another gift this morning," Seamus said casually.

"Nobody else did," Dean added. "Except for Hermione. And we asked around; nobody got any mail outside of the regular post. Nice try."

"You—seriously, what the hell?" Harry stammered. "Why do you even care?"

"We know everything," Dean said.

"It's our business," Seamus said. "The business of knowing things. If you just give in and tell us, all of this will be over. We'll leave you alone and let you enjoy your pathetic, unrequited love."

"No, you'll spread it all over school and make my life a living hell," Harry countered. "And it's not pathetic or unrequited _or_ Malfoy. Merlin, really, Malfoy? Couldn't you at least pick someone more believable than that?"

"Like…?" Dean prompted.

"I don't know!" Harry exclaimed. "Maybe someone who I don't openly despise? Like _anyone other than Malfoy_?"

"You're forgetting something," Seamus said.

"Yeah, what's that?" Harry asked.

"We saw you wrapping gifts," Dean said.

Harry froze. They had, hadn't they? And they had seen the mangled mess he'd made of the snowman. And before that, they'd seen the snowman. And then they'd seen Malfoy get the snowman in the mail.

"Those were really popular," Harry said. "The witch at checkout told me. Apparently everyone's going for them."

"Well we'll just have to see, now won't we?" Seamus asked. "If tomorrow, by any chance, Malfoy were to receive a gingerbread candle, we'll know for sure."

"Or you could leave me alone," Harry suggested. "There have to be people more interesting than me."

"Nope," Seamus said cheerfully. "The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice is prime gossip material."

"Especially if you're crushing on Draco Malfoy," Dean said.

"Well I'm not," Harry said irritably. "Now go away, I'm studying."

"If you say so," Seamus said lightly.

"See you around," Dean replied.

"_Goodbye._"

**Day Three**

**7**

Harry was dreading breakfast to the point where he was seriously considering poisoning Dean and Seamus so they wouldn't see the gingerbread candle. Or just for the fun of it. He was supposed to be nervous and anxious and antsy because of Malfoy, not because of his own bloody friends. They were ruining this, and he was pissed.

Instead he snuck out while they were still asleep and had an early breakfast. He brought Ron and Hermione with him, despite Ron's complaints at being woken up early, and made sure they were flanking him. Slowly the table began to fill up, and he flagged Neville and Ginny over, claiming they hadn't had a chance to really _talk_ in a while, and he missed them.

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "Harry, we talked a few days ago. I tried to get you to come to the Burrow instead of staying at Hogwarts for the holiday, but you said you had business here and wouldn't tell me what it was."

"And I was with you Saturday night while you were wrapping Christmas gifts," Neville said. "Plus we were partners in Charms yesterday."

"Yeah, but…" Harry trailed off as Dean and Seamus came in. They ignored him completely, sitting at the very end of the table. They weren't interested in him, just in whatever Malfoy got that morning, and from their place they'd have an excellent view of the Slytherin table. Harry shook himself. "But still. You're both going home for break. We should hang out as much as we can before you leave."

Ginny rolled her eyes, and Neville shook his head.

"Whatever you say," Ginny replied.

To his credit, Harry kept up an entirely coherent conversation, even when Malfoy sauntered into the Hall, loudly wondering what he'd be getting for the third day.

"God he's been insufferable lately," Ginny said, glaring at him. "I was studying in the library last night and he kept going on and on about his peppermints. Really. They're _peppermints_."

Harry had to work very hard to keep from blushing. "Yeah, he wore that stupid hat all day Sunday, too. Or at least at meals, I dunno about the rest of the day. Just because someone's daft enough to send him daily gifts doesn't mean he has to flaunt it all over the school."

"Malfoy, not flaunt?" Ginny asked sarcastically. "Yeah, right."

"Yeah, whoever's doing this really should've thought of the effect on the rest of the school," Ron said happily. "It's not fair to the rest of us."

"Plus he made fun of my hat," Hermione said, though she couldn't stop smiling. "Pink and sparkly wins out over boring black any day."

"Hey, look," Neville said, turning around to watch the Slytherin table. "Today's package."

"Good lord," Ginny muttered, resolutely looking away.

But at least Harry could watch this time without it being suspicious, now that most of the Hall was staring. He hadn't meant for this to get so blown out of proportion, but at least half Hall was watching as Malfoy's gift was delivered.

Malfoy was smirking already, basking in the attention. He raised the box with one hand and held up three fingers with the other. Harry was not happy. He kicked Ron as hard as he could, who let out a yelp. This whole thing had been Ron's idea. Ron had pressured him into it. Ron was taking joy in his misery. Fuck Ron.

Making a show of it, Malfoy unwrapped the box. Harry couldn't look away, the same way he couldn't not watch a train wreck. Except he was causing the train to derail. Even if nobody knew it yet, Dean and Seamus would figure it out as soon as—yes, as soon as Malfoy held up the bloody candle. And now they'd tell everyone and everything would be ruined.

Harry watched with something like horror as Malfoy opened the box and sniffed the candle. At least he seemed to like it. Then he passed the box around the Slytherin table, clearly loving the jealous looks and the appreciative words as his housemates smelled the candle. When it got back to him he gave it a final sniff before putting it back in the box and tucking it into his bag.

"That wasn't too bad," Neville said, turning back to his own table. "I mean, it was embarrassing to watch, but at least he can't go around with a lit candle all day."

"Hopefully," Ron said. "I suppose he could enchant it to follow him around."

"Shut up," Harry replied. "Don't give him any ideas. We have Transfiguration with the Slytherins next. Do you really want to spend the whole class with a stupid scented candle burning?"

Ron looked mildly horrified, and Hermione winced.

"Those things always give me a headache," she said. "I'd get a migraine if I was stuck in a classroom with one."

Ron paled. "You—you do?"

Hermione gave him an odd look. "Yes, why—?" An owl swooped down and delivered her package. She flushed. "O—oh. Well, it's only certain scents," she said, quickly unwrapping the gift. "See, this is pine-scented. I'll be fine."

"You're a terrible liar," Ron said dejectedly. "It's fine, just chuck it."

She gave him a sad smile. "That'd probably be best."

"Weird how Malfoy and you got candles on the same day," Harry mused, hoping if he actively participated in the speculation, nobody would suspect him. "Ron, did you tell anyone about the candle?"

"Just our dorm," Ron said. "You, Neville, Dean and Seamus were all watching. But you were wrapping gifts for my family so Ginny can take them home with her, it couldn't have been you." He turned to Neville and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "What of it, Neville? Are you sending Malfoy Christmas gifts?"

Neville glared at him, but at least he played along. "Oh, yes, absolutely. It's not like he hasn't made my life a living hell all these years. We've been having a secret affair since third year."

"Well, that's that," Harry said. "Mystery solved. What're you giving him tomorrow?"

"A surprise," Neville said, returning to his breakfast.

"We're all on the edge of our seats, I'm sure," Ginny said dryly. "And if, by some magical coincidence, you happen to run into the _real_ gift-giver, give him a punch for me, would you?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Is it you?" she asked. "You're certainly overreacting. Maybe it's a diversion."

Ginny didn't bother to acknowledge her.

Harry was very pleased by all of this.

**8**

Malfoy didn't light the candle during Transfigurations or lunch, but he did go back to wearing the bloody top hat, and he made a show of eating several peppermints during class. That was miserable; not only was he flaunting his gifts, but the hat was still obnoxiously attractive, and the spectacle with the peppermints, rolling them around, sucking hard enough on the candies to hollow his cheeks, occasionally licking his lips, that just wasn't fair.

After class Dean and Seamus cornered Harry in the hallway. Ron and Hermione had stayed behind so she could talk to Professor McGonagall about some detail Harry didn't catch or care about, and so he had just gone ahead unthinkingly.

"We know it's you," Seamus said.

"Even if it weren't for the candle, we'd have known," Dean added.

"The way you were staring at him, watching him eat those peppermints…" Seamus shook his head. "Tsk, tsk, Harry. You can't be so obvious."

Harry opened his mouth to deny it, but lost the will. Dean and Seamus had _seen_ him wrapping the candle. He couldn't argue with that. "Fine," he sighed. "Fine, just get it over with."

Dean and Seamus exchanged a look, and then Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "We won't say anything," he said.

Harry stared at them. "What?"

"Under normal circumstances we'd be all over it, but you're so—"

"Pathetic," Seamus supplied. "It'd be like kicking a puppy when it tries to lick your hand."

"But you have to promise us one thing," Dean said menacingly.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"Send us a picture of his face when he finds out its you," Seamus said with a grin. "We have to see. It'll be so good."

"Fuck you," Harry snapped. "I hate you both."

"At least send us an owl, yeah?" Dean asked. "Let us know how it goes?"

"Fine, whatever." Harry pushed past them and doubled back to the transfiguration room. Ron and Hermione were just leaving, and he told them what Dean and Seamus had said as they walked to their next class.

"Could be worse," Ron said optimistically.

"They could have told him," Hermione replied.

"Or insisted on the picture," Ron added.

"I know," Harry sighed. "I just. Bloody hell. This was bad enough before the whole school got involved."

"You'll be fine," Hermione said reassuringly. "He clearly loves the gifts. He might be—um, a bit surprised, when you tell him, but once he gets used to the idea, I'm sure he'll come around."

Harry felt a bit like crying. "Right. Come around."

"Or you'll be able to move on," Ron said. "And eventually you'll be whining about someone different, and hopefully someone we don't all hate and have to pretend to like so you—_ow!_" He rubbed his arm where Hermione hit him.

"It's fine," Hermione said. "He's not my favorite person ever, but as long as he treats you well, he'll be fine."

"There is no 'treating me'," Harry replied. "Hermione, you're too optimistic, and Ron, you're an ass. Can I just have a moment of silence to mope over the mess I've gotten myself into? Please?"

They remained silent until they reached Charms, and then conversation returned to classwork.

**Day Four**

**9**

Without the threat of Dean and Seamus, Harry could relax a little. He had to join in making fun of whoever was making such an embarrassing show of mooning over Malfoy, and speculation about who it was, but at least no one was suspecting him. Ginny was currently in the lead due to her continual complaining, immediately followed by Pansy Parkinson, though there was a lot of debate regarding her intelligence and ability to pull of such a stunt without letting it slip. Finally there was a small faction, led by Dean and Seamus, who insisted they saw Neville wrapping gifts, convinced it was him. Harry pulled Neville aside on the way to breakfast and thanked him quietly, which got him a nasty glare and a hissed "You owe me" before fell back to walk with Ginny.

Harry was baffled by the number of packages that arrived that morning. Apparently he—and Ron, though his gifts for Hermione went mostly uncommented on—had inspired a trend, because it seemed suddenly _everyone_ was sending their crush early Christmas gifts. It made it nearly impossible to see Malfoy and his reaction, especially when owl after owl kept dropping parcels in front of Harry. Hermione continually banished them, reminding him of the love potion Romilda Vane had sent him and asking if he wanted a repeat of that. Harry very quietly asked if she was positive none of them were from Malfoy, which was a stupid thought, but she took it in stride and assured the banishment charm wouldn't work on anything from him.

When the flurry of owls trickled away and stopped completely, Harry assumed he'd missed the arrival of Malfoy's gift. He was a little disappointed, but today's gift had been particularly ridiculous, and also particularly on-point, and he had been curious as to Malfoy's reaction. Probably derisive and laughably scornful at the idea of using novelty hair products that hadn't cost a fortune, but he had wanted to see for himself. Not because he thought Malfoy looked especially attractive when he was at his snobbiest, but because he genuinely wanted to know what he'd think of it. And also if Harry should be on his guard concerning any specific smells in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

But no, he wasn't disappointed. Apparently the school owl he had tasked with the job of delivering Malfoy's gifts was quite clever, because it waited until all other post had been delivered before swooping in and dropping off the package.

Malfoy laughed loudly, making sure the whole Hall could hear him. "I told you, Pansy. No way she's chickening out yet."

Harry quickly studied his toast. Of course Malfoy would think the gifts were from a girl. And, well, today's wouldn't help with that. But that was fine, or something, because he wasn't going to declare himself until Christmas Day, and probably not even then, and this sort of ridiculously sappy thing _was_ usually done by lovesick schoolgirls.

"What's happening?" Harry whispered to Hermione.

"Oh, um, he's opening the package," she said, in the midst of doing her hair, twining the red, green and gold ribbons Ron had gotten her through the braid. "Gloating, y'know. Now he's—Merlin, Harry, I'm busy," she cut off irritably, undoing the braid and starting over. "See for yourself."

Harry dared to look up. The small pot of hair gel was already out of the wrapping paper, and was being intensely scrutinized, probably to see if it was worthy to touch the great Draco Malfoy's Trademark Perfect Hair. Then, much to Harry's shock, he opened the contained, scooped out a large dollop, sniffed it, and then ran it through is hair. Harry found he couldn't look away. He'd never admit it, but he sort of had a thing for Malfoy's hair, for the slight golden highlights amidst all the platinum, for the way it was always perfectly styled, for how bloody soft it looked and for how it would feel fisted in his hands as he—

Malfoy's eyes suddenly caught his, self-important steel meeting embarrassed and slightly aroused green. After a moment of recovery time Harry sneered at him and turned away, saying something to Ron, anything, really, to make it seem as though he didn't give a shit about Malfoy and his stupid hair.

Ron blinked at him in confusion. "Um, Harry? That wasn't a sentence. That was a random string of words."

"Shut up," Harry said. "Dumbledore was famous for random strings of words. Purple. Flobberworm. Dittany. Um, snowmen."

"You can stop, he's not looking at you anymore," Hermione said, apparently finally pleased with her own hair. "Harry, you've got to get a grip on yourself. It wouldn't do to go to pieces so early in your plan. It's only day four."

"_Ron's_ plan," Harry emphasized. "Ron's, not mine."

"The principle remains the same."

"Hermione's right," Ron said. "We've got Defense together last period, and Whisp's still got us doing counter spells. If you're not careful, I'll hex the living daylights out of you."

"I'll be fine."

Famous last words, of course.

**9**

It only took ten minutes for the entire classroom to smell of cinnamon. It wasn't overpowering or unpleasant, just sweet and unavoidable. Malfoy was half a classroom away, and it still felt as though he was personally assaulting Harry's nose. Harry held up surprisingly well, or so he thought—he managed another five minutes before Ron got in a Jelly-Legs hex and he had to spend the requisite five minute punishment sitting in a chair, grabbing it desperately, trying to keep from upending himself and causing another round of laughter.

Two unrelated events occurred during Harry's exile, culminating in one very, very bad result.

First Hermione quietly approached Professor Whisp and explained that strong scents gave her a headache, and since _someone_ was choosing to wear cinnamon hair gel, she was getting a migraine. Whisp sent her to the infirmary, and Ron was paired with Lavender, Hermione's previous partner.

Second was when Goyle failed to avoid an Engorgement Charm, and had to go to the infirmary very quickly, before his arm got to be too heavy to lift. Malfoy smirked at his achievement and leaned back against a nearby desk. Harry hadn't realized until now, but the hair gel not only smelled of cinnamon, but shimmered slightly. He forced himself to look away. The last thing he needed was to have Malfoy catch him staring again.

"Potter, time's up!" Professor Whisp said, uttering the counterspell and releasing Harry from the curse. "Pair up with Malfoy."

Harry ground his teeth together. Of course he'd end up with Malfoy. He also realized he'd have to actually _look_ at him, which was a mixed bag. Certainly an excuse to stare at Malfoy any other day would be welcome, but not today, not in the middle of this Christmas nonsense.

"Afraid to even look at me, Potter?" Malfoy drawled. "I'm not sure how you plan on defending yourself when you can't see what I'm doing, but I've never been one to complain."

Harry forced his eyes up. Shimmering, really? _Really_? "At least I don't smell like an over spiced fruitcake."

Malfoy smirked. "You're just jealous I've got a secret admirer."

"Right, like I'd be jealous of anyone who'd want you," Harry shot back. This was incredibly uncomfortable, and he had to stop the conversation quickly, painlessly and without suspicion. "Are you going to spend the whole class bragging, or are we doing this?"

Malfoy pushed away from the desk and raised his wand. "Ready for me, Potter?"

Harry rolled his eyes and sent the first curse.

The biggest problem, it turned out, was that Malfoy was a decent dueling partner. More than decent, actually. They were both getting a physical workout as well as mental, creating a rather large bubble around themselves as they jumped to the side, or waved a wand in an oversized arch, or, on one memorable occasion, Malfoy gracefully diving to his left, nearly knocking Pansy over but instead shooting a Bogie Curse at Harry while lying on the ground. Harry barely managed to get up a _Protego_ in time; not only was Malfoy lying on the floor, but a lock of hair had come loose and was hanging in face, shimmering, wafting cinnamon towards him with every movement.

"For the last time, we're practicing counter _spells_, not counter _actions_, Malfoy," Professor Whisp called over. "On your feet. And Potter, stop encouraging him."

"It's not my fault if you can't get a shield up in time," Harry snapped at Malfoy, shooting a wordless hex as he talked. "I'm not going to get in trouble because you're incompetent."

"You mean like when you had to dive under the desk?" Malfoy asked, rebounding the hex back at him. "So graceful, Potter."

Harry was having some trouble keeping up with the banter while hexing while protecting while not looking at the shimmering while not smelling the cinnamon, which is why he said the first thing that popped into his mind. "Any idea who's sending the gifts?"

Malfoy seemed just as surprised as Harry to hear the words, and Harry took advantage of his momentary distraction to send a stinging curse at Malfoy's head. He got most of his shield up in time, but the edge of the curse hit his neck, and he hissed in pain.

"Break," he said, gritting his teeth and bringing a hand up to his neck. "And here I thought you couldn't sink any lower. Using that against me, really? You must even more jealous than I thought."

"Sod off," Harry said, a little nervously. "You okay?"

Malfoy sneered. "Like you care." He lowered his hand, and Harry saw an angry looking welt forming on the side of his neck. "Come on, back in."

"Wait," Harry said, stepping forward without thinking about it, fully invading Malfoy's space, who seemed to shocked to move. The scent of cinnamon was making him heady, and he didn't think when he turned Malfoy's head aside to look at the welt. "Professor Whisp has a salve. You need it."

Malfoy jerked away. "I do not," he snapped. "I'm not sitting out for five minutes, I'm fine."

Harry frowned and brushed his fingers against the welt. Malfoy hissed again, and Harry held out his fingers. "You're bleeding," he stated. "Go get the salve."

Malfoy was staring at him as if he was mental, and Harry suddenly realized he was. He jumped back, muttering a quick _Terego_ on his fingers.

"Fine, whatever," Harry said, returning to his place and raising his wand. "Ready, then?"

Malfoy continued to stare at him, then shook himself. "You better believe it."

They continued to duel, Malfoy occasionally wiping bloody off his neck before it could reach his robes. Harry found himself unduly infuriated by how stubborn Malfoy was being, and even though he kept telling himself it wasn't his business if Malfoy refused medical attention, he couldn't help being bothered by it.

Neither of them noticed as Professor Whisp walked through the classroom, observing each pair of students, until she yelled Malfoy's name, cutting through the sounds of dueling and causing a silence to fall on the room. Harry didn't have time to pull back his last curse, and Malfoy deflected it before turning away.

"Yes, Professor?" he asked calmly.

She grabbed his chin and jerked his head to the side. "What is this?" she demanded.

"A bit of a stray curse, nothing I can't handle," he said lightly, attempting to remove himself from her grip and failing.

"I told you, any injuries, however slight, must be examined by me," she said sternly. Then she turned to Harry. "Did you know about this?"

Harry felt himself turning red. "I tried to get him to tell you," he said. "But he wouldn't…listen…" He trailed off as he saw that his words were having no effect.

"Twenty points from both your houses," she said, letting go of Malfoy's chin in favor of his arm, dragging him up to her desk, where a jar of salving cream was waiting. "And five minutes off, both of you."

Harry collapsed angrily into a chair. It wasn't bloody fair. He hadn't done anything wrong, he didn't deserve the points taken or the five minutes off. And if he did, definitely not as many points as Malfoy. He'd at least made an _effort_, while Malfoy had just hidden behind his tough guy persona and refused to admit anything was wrong.

Malfoy came over a minute later, picking at a bandage on the side of his neck. He sat two chairs over from Harry and glared angrily at him.

"This is your fault," he hissed. "If you hadn't distracted me I never would've let the curse through."

"And if you hadn't been so stubborn you wouldn't have lost the points," Harry snapped back. "Besides, how was I supposed to know talking about that would be so distracting? Excuse me for not realizing how seriously you take secret admirers." This hadn't actually occurred to him until just now, but he was suddenly very curious. If Malfoy was just treating it as a joke, he would've laughed it off, not let his guard down. He didn't know if that was good news or bad, but it was interesting.

Malfoy smirked. "Anyone who buys me presents and makes a spectacle of themselves is enough to warrant my attention, if only while the gifts keep coming. I'm not so jaded as to immediately banish any gift that comes my way, _Potter_."

Harry flushed slightly. "That was Hermione, not me."

"Of course you'd rather bask in the glory of the attention rather than rise above," Malfoy said. "I should have known."

"I don't care about them," Harry replied, anger masking nervousness. "I'm only interested in spending Christmas with my friends, not whatever presents I can squeeze out of the holiday."

"I'll say it again, because you're too daft to get it through that thick head of yours the first time: you're just jealous." Malfoy finally seemed to notice the bit of fringe that was in his face, and worked it back as he continued. "A single gift from a secret admirer is worth ten 'Savior presents'. I'm getting gifts because somebody actually _likes_ me, not because I'm the Golden Boy."

"Nobody likes you, Malfoy," Harry said, sounding bored. He hoped. "Someone's just sucking up to you, like always. What Ron's doing for Hermione, that's romantic. That some stupid first year Slytherin is trying to get in your good graces, that's pathetic."

"Is that what the rumor mill is saying?" Malfoy asked lightly. "From what I heard, all you Gryffindors are convinced its one of you. The Weasleyette and Longbottom are at the top of the list, I believe?"

"Bull and you know it," Harry shot back. "Nobody _actually_ believes its them. That's just Dean and Seamus being pricks."

"What about you, Potter?" Malfoy asked. "Who's your money on?"

"A Slytherin first year, I told you," Harry repeated irritably. "Maybe Parkinson, if she's feeling particularly desperate. But really, Malfoy, I don't actually follow your love life, as surprising as that is."

"Potter, Malfoy, back in!"

They returned to dueling. Once again, Harry was proud of himself. Hell, he would have been proud of such a long conversation even if he _hadn't_ been the so-called secret admirer. Maybe he could escape this with his reputation intact.

He'd have to stop the "secret admirer" business, though. He wasn't a fan of that phrase at all.

But Dean and Seamus had heard it, and that was the end of that.

**Day Five**

**10**

Once again a flurry of owls brought packages to at least half the students. And once again, the barn owl Harry was coming to loathe delivered Malfoy's gift after the rest had left. At least the school was starting to get bored; there were only two days left until holiday started, and talk was mostly devoted to that. Harry, Ron and Hermione were all staying at Hogwarts, as were Malfoy and Goyle. A few others were as well, but it was going to be a very small Hogwarts Christmas. Harry wasn't thrilled about this, as he thought it would make it very obvious who was sending the gifts, but there wasn't anything he could do about it.

In any case, he was safe today, and almost nobody paid attention as Malfoy unwrapped his gift. He taunted Pansy, eating a truffle in front of her and refusing to share, but he seemed aware of his diminished audience and put the box into his bag without any further fanfare.

They had Transfiguration together first thing. The chocolates remained in his bag, there wasn't a trace of cinnamon or any shimmer in his hair, no peppermints were eaten, and he wasn't wearing the top hat. Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Was he bored of the gifts? Had the novelty worn off, and he now saw it as annoying instead of romantic? Merlin forbid, did Harry manage to convince him it was just someone sucking up? That would be ironic.

"Quit moping," Ron whispered, keeping his eyes on the passage he was supposed to be reading. "He can't flaunt chocolates in the middle of class."

"He's Malfoy, of course he could," Harry whispered back. "And I'm not moping."

"Yes you are," Hermione said. "I've seen you mope enough to recognize the expression. It's unbecoming."

"I'm not moping!" Harry said loudly.

"Five points from Gryffindor," Professor McGonagall said. "Stick to your text, Mr. Potter."

"Sorry Professor," he said, turning back to his book. He _wasn't_ moping, dammit. He was confused. There was a difference. Not only confused, but annoyed, because he couldn't do anything about his confusion. It wasn't like he could just saunter up to Malfoy and demand to know why he wasn't excited about his gift. Maybe he just didn't like chocolates that much, or he thought they were too much of a cliché, or they crossed a line and were too overtly romantic, rather than silly little things.

That, um, wasn't going to get better.

So, what? Should Harry call the whole thing off? He thought Ron would probably let him; he'd given it a go, and it had been fun at first—fun, of course, meaning terrifying and humiliating—but now it was just uncomfortable and embarrassing.

"He's probably saving them," Ron whispered. "Doesn't want to eat them all at once, you know."

"Or maybe he wants to flaunt them in front of whoever he thinks is sending them," Hermione suggested quietly.

"Yeah," Ron whispered back. "Smoke them out, y'know?"

"Another ten points from Gryffindor!" Professor McGonagall called out. "I don't know what is so captivating this particular morning, but I would kindly ask you to save it for outside the classroom."

Harry tried to focus, he really did. But it wasn't meant to be, and he flubbed his way through the rest of the lesson. He regained himself for Charms and Herbology, having a much easier time of it when he didn't have to watch Malfoy be unimpressed.

Lunch and dinner were uneventful, and Hermione decided they should have their nightly study session in the library to give Harry a change in scenery. Harry and Ron tried to convince her they didn't need to study at all since there was only one more day of classes, but Hermione insisted those classes deserved their full, prepared attention. So they settled angrily at one of the many, _many_ free tables not taken up by students who were already in the holiday spirit, and set to work.

**11**

Harry was working on a particularly dull Muggle Studies essay when their quiet was interrupted. He groaned quietly and tightened his grip on his quill, refusing to let Malfoy's voice or Pansy's insipid giggling get to him. Harry would never admit it out loud, but he was not a fan of the two of them spending a lot of alone time together, even if Pansy was dating Blaise—at least according to gossip, which wasn't to be trusted.

"You're going to rip through the parchment," Hermione said quietly. "And that inkblot erased an entire paragraph."

"Y'know what?" Harry asked angrily. "I really don't want to hear about it. This essay is about Muggle social networking. Bloody _Facebook_. It's idiotic."

"Harry, what exactly is Facebook?" Ron asked, flipping through his textbook. "It replaced something called a MinePlace, right?"

Harry rested his head in his hands. "MySpace, Ron. They're, I don't know, websites where you get to pretend people are actually interested in your life. It's bollocks."

"And Chirps?" he asked.

"Tweets," Harry corrected automatically. "From Twitter. Same thing, but in 140 characters."

Ron frowned. "I don't get it."

Harry sighed. "Yeah, exactly."

Malfoy and Pansy took over a table that was really, much closer than it needed to be. The smell of cinnamon was back, and Hermione sighed quietly, but Harry smiled. That was a good sign, right? Maybe one of the professors had called him out on wearing something with a strong smell in class, so he'd had to wait until after.

"Draco, _please_," Pansy whined, not bothering to keep her voice down despite being in the library. "I'm so _stressed_, and you _know_ chocolate makes me feel better."

"You're not stressed," Malfoy said dismissively, and he at least made an effort to keep his voice down, even if his hair gel was causing Hermione to rub her temples. "You're just upset that Blaise hasn't gotten you anything."

"He will," Pansy pouted. "On Christmas, like a normal person."

"And then you'll have your own bloody truffles, so leave mine alone."

Harry could help blushing, and had to bite down very hard on his tongue to stop his smile. Maybe things weren't so drastic. Maybe he had been working himself up over nothing.

"Surely you can spare _one_?" she tried. "Wasn't there a marzipan in there? You hate marzipan."

"I do not," Malfoy huffed. "If it's got chocolate on it, I like it. Now shut up, I've got to get this bloody essay done."

Ron pushed a piece of parchment over to Harry.

_See?_ _You've got to relax and __stop moping_.

Harry quietly banished the paper in case it fell into the wrong hands and returned to his essay, feeling much better.

"Goddammit," Hermione said quietly a few minutes later. "That bloody hair gel. The entire library's empty; why'd he have to sit near us?"

"Probably because he knows it bothers you," Ron said. "Don't give him the satisfaction."

"It's not a matter of satisfaction, it's a matter of a _migraine_," she replied testily. "I don't have time to be laid up in bed while I recover, and Madame Pomfrey's potions do nothing once it gets past the 'just a headache' phase. I can't miss the last day of classes, now can I?"

"Actually, if you were going to miss class, that'd be a good day," Harry said, trying to be cheerful and optimistic and not remind her that this was his fault. "Nobody's going to be paying attention, and the professors know it. They'd never try to teach us anything important."

"_Everything_ is important," she replied. "You never know what's going to show up on the N.E.W.T.s."

"Then go over and tell him," Ron suggested. "Kindly ask if he wouldn't mind moving to another table and see how it goes."

Hermione glared at him, then at Harry. "This is your fault," she whispered, barely audible. "You didn't get anything else scented, did you?"

"No," Harry replied, just as quietly. "Don't mention me."

"Merlin, he's going to be wearing it all break, isn't he?" Hermione sighed, again rubbing her temples. "No doubt he'll pollute the Great Hall, the library, all the corridors… If it was a one-time thing I think I could survive, but _all of break_?"

"At least he likes it," Harry whispered, fighting a smile. "And, apparently, the truffles." Then he frowned, quite serious. "But really. Stop talking to me."

Conversation stopped, and Harry went back to his paper, trying to find a way to explain why things like Facebook and Twitter were advancing Muggle culture. He didn't register the quiet sounds of crinkling or the smell of chocolate until Madame Pince's shrill voice broke the silence.

"No eating in the library!"

"I'm sorry," Malfoy said, feigning innocence. "It's just these are special, Madame Pince. A dear friend sent them to me, and I thought just one might help me get through my Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. We have to write about the trials last summer, and…" He sighed, and trailed off. "But you're right, and I apologize."

Madame Pince huffed angrily. "Just don't do it again."

"Yes, Madame."

"Crock of shit," Ron muttered. "Defense is about counter spells. Using his own dad's trial to get sympathy, really."

"Don't bother," Hermione whispered. "Harry's still stuck on the 'dear friend' bit."

"Am not," Harry replied, focusing very hard on his essay. "And _please_ stop talking about me. _Please_."

"It doesn't matter," Hermione said, suddenly closing her book and packing up her things. "I can't study in here anymore. I'm going back to the common room."

"Cat got your nose?" Malfoy called over.

Hermione glared at him, then glanced over at Madame Pince, who was facing the other way. "_Aguamenti_," she whispered, and Malfoy was suddenly doused in water, obliterating all traces of cinnamon. Hermione smirked as he let out a yelp and jumped back, knocking his chair over and flinging water from his hair. Harry couldn't turn away, not when he looked so very, very good.

"Malfoy! Out!" Madame Pince shrieked.

"I didn't—" Malfoy stammered, remembering he had a wand and uttering a cleaning spell. "Why would I do that to myself?"

"I told you to leave, Mr. Malfoy," she said threateningly. "I'll be billing you for that book you ruined."

"But I _didn't_—" Then he reeled himself back and, eyes like fire, said, "Fine. I could hardly think with _those_ three whispering anyway." He shoved his things in his bag and stalked out, Pansy trailing behind him.

Hermione cleared the air and sat back down, smiling to herself. "That was satisfying," she said quietly.

"You don't think he heard what we were saying, do you?" Harry asked nervously.

"Of course not," Hermione said. "He wouldn't have passed up the opportunity to call you out."

"Really, Harry, what do you see in the git?" Ron asked, as if they hadn't been over this a hundred times. "He's such a—a—_git_."

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry replied, steadfastly returning to his essay. "You clearly don't care or believe me, so there's no point."

"I mean, I'd get it if you wanted to shag him," Ron continued. "Not that I'm into blokes or anything, but anyone can see he's attractive. It's the personality I can't figure out."

"Leave it alone, Ron," Harry said, eyes on his parchment.

"Just because you returned his wand and he was civil doesn't mean he's not a complete arse the rest of the time," Ron said, completely ignoring Harry. "One conversation after seven years of abuse, really."

"We had a decent conversation in Defense yesterday," Harry replied, trying and failing not to be pulled into the conversation. "But that's not the point. You didn't go to the trials, you didn't hear the things that went on in his house."

"I read it in the _Prophet_," Ron said.

"You read what Rita Skeeter published," Harry snapped, setting his quill down angrily. "That's not even my point. My point is that you don't know him."

"Neither do you!" Ron said, voice getting a bit loud. "You've gone and romanticized the moron because you need to be the _hero_, to _rescue_ him from his dastardly past."

"Just shut up!" Harry yelled. "I know what I'm doing!"

"Like you did with Ginny?" Ron shot back.

"Quiet!" Madame Pince said sharply. "I will have silence in the library!"

Harry glared at him. "You know I broke up with her as soon as I realized I was gay," he whispered. "You also know she's not mad at me. There's no reason to bring that up."

"Harry's right," Hermione said quietly. "But Harry, so is Ron. Are you sure you actually like him, and you're not just trying to do something noble?"

Harry wanted to scream. "Did you see me trying to 'rescue' him any other year?" he hissed. "I don't bloody care about his reputation, or his parents, or any of that. He's different this year. He was different when we met in Diagon Alley over the summer so I could give him his wand back. It wasn't one _civil conversation_, Ron. It was coffee and Quality Quidditch Supplies. But really, do I question your motives for fancying Hermione? And Hermione, when you spent all of sixth year pining after Ron, did I say anything once? Just once?"

Hermione looked uncomfortable. "We're just looking out for you," she said quietly. "We don't want you to get hurt."

"That became inevitable the moment Ron convinced me to do this bloody Christmas thing," Harry said. "Now just leave me alone and let me do my essay."

They did stop talking, but by then Harry had lost all focus. That day in Diagon Alley was one of the only times he had seen what he thought of as the "real Malfoy". They had started off as stiff and uncomfortable, then civil, and finally something approaching friendly. They hadn't left as soon as the wand was returned, they had finished their drinks and then gone over to the Quidditch shop to look at the newest Snitch model. Together. Civilly. Like friends do.

The day sixth year when Harry had walked in on him crying, that was also the "real Malfoy". He hadn't wanted to curse him, it was self-defense. Malfoy had started it. And he _certainly_ hadn't meant to cast _Sectumsempra_. He had horrified himself, never mind Malfoy. If he had been given the chance he would have offered to help, or at least gotten him a warm cup of tea. The cursing wasn't the "real Malfoy", he was convinced. It had been instinct, like a wounded animal stuck in a corner. All Harry had wanted to do was _help_.

…so maybe he did have a bit of a savior complex, and wanted to rescue Malfoy. But it wasn't _rescue_, it was _help_, and even more than that, it was _putting the past behind him_ and _getting to know him_ and not _holding his family's crimes against him_. Harry had seen him lower his wand. He had seen the "real Malfoy", and he wasn't willing to let it go, not until he knew for sure. If there was a decent person under there, which he was absolutely sure of, he'd find it.

It suddenly hit Harry that was the real reason why he had gone along with Ron's plan. If Malfoy had just laughed and thrown the gifts away, or taunted whoever sent them, that'd be that. But he hadn't. He'd gloated, yes, and acted like an arse, but he'd also seemed genuinely pleased, and flattered.

It wasn't like he could help who he was attracted to. It just was.

And it was Malfoy.

"Ron, I'm sorry I yelled at you," he whispered. "I'm just—y'know?"

"I know," Ron whispered back. "I'm sorry, too. You're not a hero, you're an evil git, just like Malfoy, and you deserve each other."

"Jerk," Harry whispered, but smiled and turned back to his essay for real.

**Day Six**

**12**

_Halfway done_, Harry thought to himself. _Halfway there. I can do this. Halfway._

The storm of owls was even bigger today. It was the last breakfast before everyone left for the holidays, and anyone who had been gathering courage or waiting for a sign or something had realized it was now or never and sent their packages off. It created enough of a mess that, once the owls had left and the noise died down, Professor McGonagall announced there would be a new owl system that would now allow for more than twenty owls to enter the Great Hall at once. Then she waved her wand, vanishing the dusting of feathers, and sat back down.

Like always, Harry's owl arrived late. He was exceedingly nervous. Today was the first gift that wasn't Christmas-related, but Malfoy-related. It couldn't be taken as a joke or a silly little something. It was a real, actual gift. And Harry couldn't think of a single reason why he had done such a foolish thing.

"Ron, I need you to tell me what's happening," Harry said quietly, addressing his scone. "I can't do this."

"You're such a pussy," Ron said. "I watched Hermione open her gift."

"Your _girlfriend_, who knew who it was _from_, meaning her _boyfriend_," Harry explained. "Please? This is the last day it'll matter; tomorrow we'll all be at one table and it'll make sense for me to watch, or something. I can't be seen staring at the Slytherin table."

"Pussy," Ron repeated firmly. "But fine. He's unwrapping the gift. Pansy's sulking, and Blaise and Goyle aren't paying attention. Seems the novelty has worn off. Anyway, he's got the wrapping paper off, and he looks—er, I'm not sure. Confused, maybe? Or—I dunno. Hermione, what d'you think?"

She glanced up. "Impressed."

Harry stared at her. "No."

"Yeah, definitely impressed," Ron agreed. "It's caught his friends attention, too. Pansy's positively seething, Blaise looks as interested as he ever does, and Goyle seems confused. I think Blaise is explaining what it is, and now he looks like—er, Hermione?"

She looked up again. "A dumbfounded dolt."

"Yeah, that," Ron said. "So that's good, mate! You've managed to impress Draco Malfoy, and it's only day six. I'd say you have a real shot with him."

"It's just a quill," Harry muttered, though he was smiling. "You got Hermione an Everlasting Flame."

"Girlfriend," Ron said. "I'm supposed to spoil her rotten."

Hermione blushed. "You're very sweet, especially since I know you got it to match your Deluminator." She leaned over Harry and kissed Ron's cheek, which wasn't uncomfortable for Harry in the slightest.

"D'you suppose we'll be writing in Defense?" Harry mused. "Or more practical?"

Hermione frowned. "I hope we will be. Professor Whisp is interesting, I'll give her that, but it's all flash. There's a written section on the N.E.W.T.s too, you know. We ought to be prepared for both."

"Only you would rather take notes than hex your classmates," Ron said affectionately.

**13**

It was practical, Harry was sad to see. He'd been looking forward to watching Malfoy flaunt his eagle quill, but it remained in his bag. She broke them into groups of four and, in tribute to a TV show Harry hadn't heard of but Whisp, who was Muggle-raised, seemed quite enamored with, had them fight off enchanted Santa figurines and whirling Christmas trees that threw bombs disguised as ornaments.

It was sort of fun at first, but it quickly became taxing. Harry was paired with Ron, Hermione and Neville, and while the four of them had no problem deflecting the bombs or stilling the Santas, _Petrificus Totalus_ only lasted for a minute, and the trees had a never ending supply of ornaments. Ron made a valiant attempt to physically battle the tree, but got his arm slashed by the whirring pine needles, and had to be treated with Whisp's healing salve and sit out for five minutes.

After quite a bit of this, Harry got fed up and accidentally sent an ornament hurtling across the room. It smashed into another ornament, creating a very loud and destructive explosion. All four members of the group standing directly under the collision had to be sent to the hospital wing, and the rest of the class got to learn how to magically remove bits of glass from themselves, and then apply healing salve.

The rest of the class was a lecture, much to Hermione's delight. Malfoy was sitting in the back of the classroom and Harry in the front, which made it very difficult to look over surreptitiously. In fact, he couldn't think of an excuse throughout the entire lecture, rendering the whole class a waste—he didn't take notes because he was too distracted by Malfoy, whom he couldn't even see.

The opportunity finally presented itself after class. Professor Whisp retreated into her office with the Santas and trees, muttering something about explosives, and as soon as she was gone, Malfoy started talking.

"I don't think I've ever taken better notes," he drawled. "Shame, really, that more of the class wasn't a lecture. Who knew eagle quills were so smooth and even? My father has one with a feather from Phineas Black's own eagle. Wait until he hears I have my own."

"Nobody cares, Malfoy," Ron replied, getting his things together. "It's a quill."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," Malfoy replied. "I doubt you've ever written with anything better than pheasant."

"I'll have you know I've got a Fwooper quill at home," Ron snapped.

Malfoy laughed. "Oh, of course. I forgot. Father told me all about the day a Fwooper got loose in the Ministry and Arthur Weasley was tasked with capturing it. Seems your father isn't _entirely_ useless after all; it only took him, what three hours to get a single bird?"

Ron was starting to turn red. "It had a bloody snitch enchantment on it, that's why it was confiscated. I'd like to see you catch a Fwooper under that spell."

"You mean like in all those Quidditch games I won?" Malfoy smirked. "Besides, my point is that the only reason the Weasleys have such a quill is because it was a handout from the Minister. You could never afford one on your own."

"I happen to like pheasant quills," Hermione said calmly. "The striping is lovely."

"Besides, you didn't afford one," Harry added. "Whoever your 'admirer' is got it for you."

"Expensive items are always better as gifts," Malfoy replied haughtily. "Not only do I not have to shell out the Galleons myself, but it's got that personal touch."

Harry had to look away before Malfoy saw his look of satisfaction. "Whatever."

He walked out of the classroom with Ron and Hermione at his side, and had to suppress a sudden, hysterical bout of giggles.

"Was that enough for you?" Ron asked testily. "If this is how he's going to be as long as you keep giving him gifts, I take back any support of this plan."

"I don't care," Harry said. "It'll get better when everyone leaves for holiday. As long as we don't give him a reaction, he'll calm down. Pansy'll keep whining until Blaise gets her something, and then she'll lose interest, too. Plus there won't be any classes, just meals. Relax, Ron."

Ron continued to mutter angrily under his breath, and Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You're in a good mood."

"How completely and utterly coincidental," Harry replied.

"If giving him gifts would make you this happy, we should have made you do this ages ago," Hermione said.

"Having Harry mope all the time versus purposefully goading Malfoy to get a reaction to keep Harry from moping," Ron contemplated. "This is messed up. But I guess I suppose I'd rather see you happy."

Harry grinned. "Thanks, mate. Besides, it's only six more days. After that things will go back to normal." His face fell. "Oh no, wait. That's right. He'll tease me forever and make my life a living hell. At least you'll be off his radar."

"New rule," Ron announced. "If I have been verbally or physically abused by Malfoy even once during the day, you're not allowed to mope for the remainder of said day. And that's pretty damned generous of me."

"Fine, fine," Harry said, starting to smile again. "Now stop talking about me," he added as they walked into Muggle Studies.

"I can't wait for this to be over," Ron muttered.

**Day Seven**

**14**

The Hogwarts Express containing the students leaving for holidays left just before breakfast. Harry was woken up at five by Seamus, who still hadn't packed. The rest of his room woke up as well, Ron throwing his pillow at Seamus before casting a silencing charm on his bed and going back to sleep. Dean and Neville had to wake up to get ready for the train, and Harry found he was too nervous to get back to sleep.

Today was the potions book. The quill had been the first real gift, but the book was the first absolutely, irrevocably Malfoy gift. Aside from coming off as way too interested and invested in the project, there was also the worry that he'd already have it, or find it far below his skill level, or get creeped out because of the level of interest and investment.

So Harry stayed in bed and chatted with his friends, and when they left he stared at his curtains. When he couldn't wait any longer he woke up Ron, despite his protests that it was the first day of vacation and should be allowed to sleep in. When Harry reminded him of the gift he'd gotten Malfoy Ron perked up a bit, at least enough to get out of bed and get dressed. They met up with Hermione in the common room and went down to the Great Hall together.

Harry was frantically running through the list of those staying, aside from them. Malfoy, Pansy and Goyle. Um. Someone in Ravenclaw, he was pretty sure. And probably at least one Hufflepuff, right? Surely the whole house couldn't leave. Any other Slytherins? A first year girl would be ideal, but there was very little chance he'd be that lucky.

"Oh, hey, wait," Harry said suddenly, grabbing Ron's arm and dragging him over to a piece of parchment tacked to the wall. "I've been looking for one of these everywhere."

"A list of those staying?" Hermione asked. "There was one posted in the common room."

"Well I woke up very early," Harry said. "And I'm really nervous. Okay, two Ravenclaws, I don't know either of them. Any idea what year they are?"

"That's Michael Corner's little sister," Hermione said. "She's a third year. I don't know the boy."

"No Hufflepuffs," Harry said dejectedly. "None? Really? Whatever, fine. And, oh thank God, a girl from Slytherin I don't know. Maybe he'll assume it's her. Or that Ravenclaw boy. Would he assume it's a boy? Probably not. Then I guess I'm safe. And it could always be someone who isn't here, right? They could have been dragged home by family, or, uh—"

"Harry, calm down," Hermione said, looking a bit alarmed. "I understand you're nervous, but you have to breathe, and try not look utterly panicked."

"Yeah, let's just go to breakfast," Ron said. "I'm starved."

Harry spent the rest of the walk trying to arrange his face into some semblance of "I'm tired and hungry and I don't care who's staying here because my friends are". He thought he succeeded, mostly. There was one table, like there always was during the holidays, and the three of them sat on the end where they'd have some privacy. The Ravenclaws—it seemed like they were dating, as much as thirteen year olds dated—were in the middle, and a lone girl who—and Harry literally could not believe how lucky he was—must be the Slytherin, and yes she was young, and now Harry realized what the point of having her around was, since he'd still promised Ron he'd tell Malfoy on Christmas anyway. He'd get a few days of peace, since Malfoy would no doubt think it was a girl, but that only gave him until next Thursday. And then his life would end.

Malfoy, Pansy and Goyle walked in a few minutes later. When Malfoy saw the girl was probably a Slytherin he winced, and muttered something about not sitting near her. Pansy smirked at this, and Harry was very interested in the dynamics of the situation and once again had no way of finding out. Did he think the gifts were from her? That'd mean he didn't want them to be. That was good. What other reasons could he have for not wanting to sit with her? Maybe she was the daughter of a sworn enemy, or maybe she was better at potions than he was and he was jealous, or maybe she'd already asked him out and he'd said no and didn't want anything to do with her.

Harry focused on his waffles.

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle sat a few seats down, and Harry wanted to die. "Conversation, guys," he whispered, elbowing Hermione and stepping on Ron's foot.

"We should start that potion—"

"Have you heard about the Chudley—"

Ron and Hermione both stopped, and Harry closed his eyes. This was not, in any way, shape, or form, a good plan.

"Chudley Cannons?" Harry asked.

"Er, yeah," Ron said. "They're getting a new Seeker next season."

"Is this good or bad news?"

"Not sure yet," Ron replied. "It, uh, depends on how tryouts go. I'm rooting for, er—" He let out a sigh. "I don't know, it's too early to talk about Quidditch."

"I didn't know there was a time when you didn't want to talk about Quidditch," Hermione said with a smile. "This is good information."

Ron and Hermione struck up a conversation about—bloody hell, being tired and Quidditch. Harry seriously considered rethinking dating. Then, with a pathetic, sinking feeling he realized that he'd be perfectly happy talking to Malfoy about being tired and Quidditch.

The scent of cinnamon wafted over.

"Merlin," Hermione sighed. Louder, she called, "Hey, Malfoy?"

He looked over, eyebrows raised. "Granger, desiring my attention? Is it backwards day and nobody told me?"

"I just wanted to ask you for a favor," she said, and Harry thought she was indescribably brave. "If you're going to wear that hair gel, would you mind not sitting so close to me? Scented products give me a headache."

Malfoy laughed. "Of course they do. So many things upset your delicate sensibilities, I'd hardly be surprised that something as insignificant as hair gel would bother you."

"Please, Malfoy? Just this one time, be a decent guy?" she asked.

He smirked. "And why would I do such a thing?"

"It's Christmas," Ron said. "The holidays. That gel, that was one of your stupid gifts, wasn't it? Embrace the Christmas spirit of whoever is stupid enough to send you gifts."

Malfoy's face rearranged into something approaching civility. "Perhaps another time," he said. "I have no desire to sit with doe-eyed Ravenclaws, or that—" He winced. "All you need to know is that not all Slytherins are friends. Nor do I wish to sit with the staff. Your company, as ill-advised and unpleasant as it may be, is the lesser of four evils."

Harry would be rubbing this conversation in Ron's face as soon as they were alone. Proof that Malfoy wasn't entirely, purely a prick. Mostly.

"It really does give me a migraine," Hermione said. "If it helps, I had to throw out a scented candle Ron got me."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows again. "You got a scented candle as well?" He smirked. "I knew it was a Gryffindor. Only someone from your oh-so-noble house would be brash enough to pull a stunt like this."

"Candles are a pretty generic gift," Harry said. "Or do you still think it's Ginny or Neville?"

He snorted. "I've moved on from such idiotic notions. No way Longbottom would have the courage. I suppose it could still be the Weasleyette, but the notion is too disturbing to consider."

"Watch it," Ron said automatically. "Back to the point. Christmas spirit."

Malfoy ignored Ron. "Consider the feelings of my secret admirer. What if she stayed for the break? I wouldn't want her to think I don't appreciate the gift."

Harry was less pleased with the conversation. If Malfoy was so fixated on a girl, if it didn't even cross his mind, that had to say something, right? That he was so incredibly, completely straight it wouldn't even occur to him it might be a boy. Not encouraging.

"On the other hand," Hermione said slowly, "_migraine_. Besides, no one's here. You've got to come to the realization that you aren't important enough to change holiday plans for."

Malfoy started to sneer, then dropped it. "I know who it is, and I'm not interested. But she's the daughter of a very important person, and my father is making me be nice to her. But, just for you, out of the generosity of my heart, I will arrive to lunch early and seat myself as far away from you as humanely possible."

"That girl?" Ron asked, nodding towards the end of the table.

"Don't," Malfoy said, teeth gritted.

"How do you know?" Harry asked casually.

"She _fawns_," Malfoy said, crinkling his nose. "It's pathetic. And creepy. She's _twelve_."

"And how do you know this?" Harry asked, somewhere between excited and irritated. "Did your daddy tell you?"

This time the sneer was not interrupted. "No, he did not."

"He's just guessing," Pansy said, shooting him a glare. "He doesn't want to admit that he's an idiot and can't figure it out on his own."

"Shut up," Malfoy snapped. "It's not that, it's—"

"Post," Ron interrupted.

They fell into silence as they watched the owls flew in. Two were carrying packages. Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from cursing. Apparently the school owl considered this gathering small enough that it could deliver the gift along with the rest of the mail. Harry had been hoping to sneak out before post arrived, regardless of seeing Malfoy's expression. There were sitting far too close, and they were having a sort of civil conversation. He didn't trust himself not to say something or do something or just burst into flames on the spot.

Malfoy glanced towards the end of the table, looking pained. He shifted on his chair so he was facing away from the girl, whom Harry was starting to feel bad for. Not as bad as he felt for himself, but still.

"Stop looking," he snapped. "God, she's leeching all the fun out of this. Free gifts should be _fun_, something to take _advantage _of. This isn't fair."

"Only you would complain about a secret admirer," Harry said.

"And you," Malfoy shot back. "You're overrun by fangirls. Now shut up and let me get as much enjoyment out of this as I can."

Harry found it very difficult to look at Hermione, who was on his left, and Malfoy, who was on his right, at the same time. He had to look at Hermione, he didn't have a choice. Not only would looking at Malfoy be suspicious, but so would not watching Hermione.

She finished unwrapping first anyway, and oohed and ahhed over the set of teas he'd gotten at Madame Puddifoot's. Harry was exceedingly glad this was not one of the days they had coordinated presents, however accidentally. And, thinking over the rest of his gifts, Harry realized he was safe. No more similar gifts.

"What the…"

Harry glanced over at Malfoy, who was staring at the book with an expression he didn't get at all. "What's wrong now?" he asked, aiming for put upon. "Not to your liking?"

"This book has been out of print for over a century," Malfoy said, carefully flipping through the pages. "How on earth did she find this?"

Harry had to force himself to keep his expression neutral. He had no idea about any of this; he'd found the book in the back of a secondhand bookshop, and thought it looked suitably dark and mysterious. He knew it was about potions, and that was it. Had he stumbled across something impressive by mistake?

"Maybe she just didn't know," Ron supplied unhelpfully. "Not everyone is as obsessed with potions as you."

"She'd know," Malfoy said. Then his face fell. "Bloody hell, how am I supposed to ignore her now? This must've cost a fortune."

Harry took a sip of orange juice innocently. It had been a few Sickles. He'd spent a while worrying over whether or not it was good enough. Apparently unnecessarily.

"Since when do you care about other people's feelings?" Pansy asked distastefully. "Even friends of your father's. It's not like you even _talk_ to the Greengrasses, and they're way more influential than her dad."

Malfoy looked pained. "She's twelve."

"I repeat the question," Pansy said.

"Could it be you're not entirely evil after all?" Ron asked dubiously.

"Shove off," Malfoy muttered. Then abruptly he closed the book and put it in his bag. "There is no way I'm getting food on that." He shifted uncomfortably. "Is she looking at me?"

Pansy glanced over his shoulder. "No."

He let out a sigh of relief and sat normally. "Locked in a dorm with her for two weeks. Locked in the Manor with my father for two weeks. Hell either way."

"Draco, for the thousandth time it's not her," Pansy groaned, sounding bored. "She's talked to you, what, once this year?"

"That's the point," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. "She's too shy to say anything."

"Or, alternatively, she _doesn't give a shit_," Pansy said, and Harry found himself sort of not exactly not hating her. "Whatever. Keep up your delusions. Just don't be surprised if whoever it is, isn't her."

"I'm not coming out of my room on Christmas," Malfoy said resolutely. "I'm staying in bed all day. Charming my curtains closed and repelling any and all gifts."

Pansy snorted. "Such a liar. You'd never turn down a gift."

"Okay, fine, but I'm still not getting out of bed."

She rolled her eyes. "As long as you get your post, and as long as you show it to me, do whatever you want."

**15**

True to his word, Malfoy and his cronies sat as far away as possible from Harry and his friends at both lunch and dinner. Harry refrained from bringing up breakfast the whole day, and Ron and Hermione were waiting for him to open up, which was sweet. He knew they wanted to talk about it, probably not as much as he did, but still a lot. Harry was putting it off on the small chance they would sit together again and have even more to discuss, but it seemed Malfoy really was being decent and respecting Hermione's wishes.

Which was the very first thing Harry brought up when they reached the common room after dinner.

"_Plus_," he added, "he's trying not to hurt that girl's feelings."

"Harry, these are basic common courtesies," Ron said, collapsing on a couch. "They mean he _sometimes_ isn't a complete arse. They don't mean he's got a hidden, super secret sweet, kind, loving side."

"For all you know, he's only being nice to her so his father won't get upset," Hermione said.

"Yeah but he's ignoring the Greengrasses," Harry protested. "I don't actually know who any of these people are, and I'm really loathe to agree with Pansy, but if they're even more important than that girl and he doesn't have a problem snubbing them, then he clearly doesn't care about what his dad thinks."

"I just want to know how you're going to explain that potions book," Ron said with a laugh. "Since you _will _be telling him on Christmas, and since you won't want to come off as completely pathetic, presumably you'll need to tell him something."

"I don't want to talk about that," Harry said obstinately. "I want to talk about how he was nice to Hermione and the other girl. _And_ how we had a decent conversation with him, _and_ Pansy, all three of us. A few snide comments here and there, but overall, entirely decent. Not just civil, Ron, don't even try. If it was merely civil he would've ignored us after he and Hermione settled the cinnamon business. Instead we continued to talk. And about things that embarrassed him. Doesn't that mean something?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "It means you're reading too much into this. Now please, keep your voices down. I've got to get started on my potions essay."

Harry and Ron stared at her.

"It's the first day of vacation," Ron said. "And you're doing homework?"

"If I get it done now I'll have the rest of holiday to relax," she said primly, summoning her textbook and flipping open to a marked page. "Whereas you and Harry will be up until three in the morning the day before classes start, scrambling to finish."

"Bloody mental," Ron muttered, shaking his head.

"She's right, you know," Harry replied.

"There's a difference between someone being right and someone else choosing to act on it," Ron stated. "Chess?"

"Yeah, sure."

**Day Eight**

**15**

"He's not using the hair gel," Hermione said, surprised.

"Told you he's not a git," Harry replied quietly.

"Y'know, I see the problem with being the last to get to breakfast," Ron said. They stood just inside the Great Hall, and it was entirely unclear where to sit. The Ravenclaw couple was at the end of the table, the Slytherin girl a few seats down from the professors, and Malfoy, Pansy and Goyle in the middle.

"Well, lesser of four evils, right?" Harry said, putting on a brave face and leading them over to the middle of the table.

Malfoy smirked as they sat down. "Told you it wasn't easy to find a decent place to sit."

"Well I appreciate you not using the hair gel this morning," Hermione said politely. "As well as sitting on the other end of the table yesterday."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "As if I don't have any other reason for wanting to avoid your company."

"Christmas spirit," Ron said firmly. "We're all going to get along because of Christmas spirit. On Boxing Day you can go back to hating us."

"What Ron means," Harry corrected quickly, "is that Christmas spirit extends through the entire holiday break. Truce lasts until the New Year."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. Harry was not a big fan of that expression, by which he meant it was one of his favorites, especially when it was directed at him, and even more so when Malfoy seemed genuinely curious, and not malicious. "I wasn't aware we had a truce."

"Well I'm declaring one," Harry said, forging ahead and feeling a little light headed. "I don't fancy spending two weeks fighting when I could be relaxing."

Malfoy turned to Pansy and Goyle. "What do you think? A truce with the Golden Trio? Doesn't seem like something I'd be interested in."

"What do we get?" Pansy asked. "You know us, we're always up for a bit of a fight. Why should we lose our favorite punching bags?"

"Christmas spirit," Ron repeated.

Malfoy snorted. "That all you can say, Weasley?"

"He's right," Hermione replied. "You were decent yesterday; what's the harm in extending it a few days?"

"I still say we should get something in return," Pansy said, crossing her arms.

Malfoy caught Harry's eye and smirked. "What of it, Potter? This was your idea. What are you going to give us?"

Harry lost the ability to form words. Or thoughts. There was something far from innocent behind Malfoy's words, he was sure of it. A double meaning, reading between the lines, looking for something he was _positive_ was there. It had to be. He heard it.

Unless, of course he was wrong.

But he wasn't. He was sure.

Nearly sure.

Malfoy leaned forward, and Harry couldn't look away from his eyes, couldn't break the contact that might very well kill him. Christmas candles were everywhere, and the way the light hit those incredible grey eyes, it was like they were sparkling.

"Well?" Malfoy asked softly. "What have _you_ got that _I_ might want?"

This was all new, very new, and entirely impossible. He wanted to look at his friends for help, but he couldn't break contact. He wanted to say something, anything, but his vocal chords weren't complying. He was itching to grab Malfoy and snog him senseless, and he was very concerned that his hands might be the only part of him that would move.

"Post is here," Ron said loudly, and the moment was ruined. Harry jerked back—since when had he been leaning forward anyway?—and Malfoy returned to his seat, smirking and carefully smoothing his sweater.

Hermione kicked Harry, and he realized he was still staring at Malfoy. He turned mechanically and watched with unseeing eyes as Hermione opened her gift. She was saying something, probably thanking Ron, but Harry's ears were tuned to Malfoy.

"—saves me the trouble of going to Knockturn Alley," Malfoy finished, and Harry wasn't thrilled he had missed the beginning of his sentence, but it occurred to him he should be thankful he could hear Malfoy at all and wasn't making Ron narrate his actions from half the Hall away.

"Knockturn Alley?" Harry repeated distrustfully, turning to Malfoy. "Don't tell me she got you something illegal."

"Not even second years are that stupid," Malfoy replied. "There are legal ways of getting Tentacula leaves, and as far as I know, she picked them up at the apothecary. Besides, you never see this kind of freshness on—" He cleared his throat. "—secondhand leaves."

Pansy glanced down at her, and smirked. "Draco, I told you it's not her. She didn't look at you once through all of that."

"Well she wouldn't now, would she?" Malfoy replied testily, putting the leaves away. "She's smarter than that. Anyway, I don't care anymore. If I keep getting gifts like these, they could be from the great Harry Potter himself and I wouldn't care." His eyes had wandered back to Harry's, and while Harry nearly choked on his food and had a very difficult time not blushing, he thought he handled himself incredibly well.

"You wish," he replied. He was tapping his foot on Hermione's, needing to do _something_ to release the tension.

"We knew it was someone in Gryffindor," Malfoy continued. "It had to be, given the similarity of my gifts to Granger's, at least at first. And since you're the only single Gryffindor to stay behind…"

"I told you yesterday, you're not important enough to change holiday plans for," Hermione said. "There are a hundred reasons not to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays."

Malfoy shrugged noncommittally. "No doubt. Still, though. If it were me, I wouldn't want to miss my reactions. Plus I'd be planning something for Christmas, some way of declaring myself, and I couldn't very well do that if I wasn't at school, now could I?"

"There are these things," Harry said, "called owls. They can deliver letters, you know. She's probably just going to send an extra special gift with a note saying it's her or something."

"Or him," Malfoy added delicately. "As Pansy so _graciously_ pointed out at such _great length_ last night, I have no way of knowing the gender of my secret admirer."

Pansy rolled her eyes, but she didn't say anything. Harry couldn't resist, especially after whatever Malfoy was putting him through.

"What was that?" Harry asked her.

"Oh, nothing," she said innocently, pushing eggs around her plate. "Somebody else who's been getting gifts—not Draco, mind you, of _course_ not—has been hoping for a male admirer the whole time. Even though that someone—who _isn't_ Draco—is out to his friends, he doesn't want word to get back to his father—who, of course, wouldn't be Lucius _Malfoy_."

Malfoy immediately flushed, glaring at Pansy. "Shut up," he hissed.

Harry was having trouble with his words again. He knew Malfoy had slept with boys, everyone knew that, but he didn't know he was _gay_. That changed everything.

Maybe.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Hermione said. "Do you really think we're going to owl your father to tell him about his son's sexual proclivities? It's your business who you're attracted to, not your father's, and certain not ours."

"And yet, we can still use it against you," Ron said happily. "Holiday truce or we owl him."

Malfoy's glare shifted to Ron. "Define truce."

"No making fun of me or my family," Ron said.

"No cinnamon hair gel," Hermione added. "And only civil conversation."

"No magic," Ron continued. "Well, er, I suppose no malicious magic, but don't push it."

"Potter?" Malfoy asked, fiery gaze turning to Harry. "Anything you'd like to add?"

Harry still hadn't regained the power of speech, and just shook his head. It was the blush. And the power in his eyes. And that he was _gay_. Actually _gay_. Not that it meant Malfoy would be attracted to him, or even didn't entirely despise him, but at least he was the right gender. Harry knew he was grasping at straws, but straws were better than nothing.

Malfoy sighed dramatically. "Fine, then. Truce. But the second the clock strikes midnight in the New Year—"

"Yeah, yeah, we get it," Ron interrupted.

Pansy huffed. "I still don't get anything out of this. And really, Draco, he's going to find out sooner or later."

"Later being the key word," Malfoy replied, rending his breakfast with his fork. "Not on Christmas, and not from _them_."

"Wait, I do get something out of this," Pansy said suddenly. "I get to share all of Draco's secrets with you, and drive him up the wall." Goyle snorted laughter, the first time Harry had heard him make a noise all year. "You see, Draco has grand dreams of sweeping into the Manor with his soul mate on his arm, and the force of their true love is so strong that—"

"Pansy for fuck's sake!" Malfoy yelled. "Shut up!"

She smirked. "That's what you get for not including me in the terms of the truce."

"I think it's sweet," Harry said, finding his words at the most inopportune moment he could imagine, and of course not being able to hold them back. "A soul mate, one true love. Wouldn't have thought you'd believe in that, Malfoy, but it's cu—curious," he stammered. Merlin, had he almost called Malfoy cute? That was—no. It was just no.

Malfoy gave him a weird look. "Right. Anyway, as part of our truce, you—all three of you—are sworn to secrecy regarding anything that comes out of _that_ mouth," he said, jerking his head at Pansy. "And Potter, don't call me sweet. Really."

**16**

"So that was definitely flirting," Ron said, waiting until they were inside the safety of the common room.

"What was?" Harry asked. "Wanting a truce?"

"Nobody's buying your innocent act," Ron accused.

"Yeah, Harry, that's just pathetic," Hermione added. "There was—let me see." She ticked off her points on her fingers. "Your utter inability to speak, especially when he asked you about the truce; we'll be coming back to that, by the way. The way you stared at him through the whole meal. How you pushed Pansy into saying that he's gay, and then all but collapsed when she said it out loud, even thought you already _knew_ he's interested in men. And, of course, when you told him it was sweet that he believed in soul mates and true love." She laughed a little. "Harry, I love you, but that was too much. Nobody believed you called it curious; far too improbable given your lexicon. I don't know if he got that you _actually_ said cute, but he knew something wasn't right."

"I—I didn't—those things," Harry said indignantly.

"To be fair, he did start it," Ron said thoughtfully. "When he went on about what you, specifically, could give him in exchange for a truce. Leaning across the table like that? And then when he started going on about you being his admirer, that was classic."

"He wasn't—" Harry stopped. "Wait, he was? That wasn't all in my head?"

"No, definitely not," Hermione said. "His motives may be in question, but he was absolutely flirting with you."

Harry gave himself a moment to be happy before returning to the real world. "What do you mean, motives? I mean, I don't—I guess—what motives?"

"Well that would be the question," Hermione replied.

Harry sighed. "I don't want to do this," he said without any conviction. "Breaking down every word and analyzing every movement. I'm not a thirteen-year-old girl. I'm an adult. We're not doing this."

Run shrugged. "Whatever you say. Hermione, can I see the essay you wrote last night?"

"No," she said, though she did summon her schoolwork, as well as Harry and Ron's. "Once you've written yours, I'll go over it. You're not allowed to copy mine."

"But I'm giving you twelve days of Christmas," Ron protested.

Hermione held out one hand. "My essay." She held out her other. "My Christmas gifts." She looked at her hands. "These don't seem to be related."

"They're both hands?" Ron tried.

She shook her head, smiling. "Write your own essay. I'll check it for you."

Harry took his transfiguration book out and started reading. Then he put it down. "Okay, what motives?"

"Do you want my honest opinion, or what I think will make you feel best?" Hermione asked.

"Honest opinion," Harry muttered, not wanting to hear that at all but having no choice.

"I think he was trying to get a reaction out of you," she said. "He's gotten bored of insulting you and has moved on to a new game. It's possible he was genuinely trying to see if you're the one sending the gifts. He did have a point; evidence suggests it's a Gryffindor, you two really should have planned that out better, and you are the only single one left."

"Do you think he actually thinks it's me?" Harry asked. "Or that I fancy him?"

"Hard to say," Hermione replied. "Probably not. If I were you, I'd cozy up to Pansy. It seems she doesn't mind spilling secrets to whoever's closest and, considering the truce, that would be us."

Harry wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I'd rather not, thank you very much."

"Then you'll just have to wait and see," Hermione said. "It's only another four days until Christmas. You'll survive."

Harry opened his book again. And closed it again. "Did I say anything stupid?"

"No," she replied. "Aside from that curious business."

"You'll kick me if I start blathering or something, right?"

"Dibs on that job," Ron cut in. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm actually trying to study. Can we save your love life until I'm not feeling so guilty about my homework?"

"It's not a love life, it's pathetic," Harry said. "Besides, there isn't anything left to say. Homework it is."

**Day Nine**

**17**

They hadn't sat with the Slytherins for lunch or dinner, and Harry was wondering how intentional that was. Did they only gravitate towards each other at breakfast because that's when packages arrived? Or did the other students happen to sit in a way that prevented any contact? Were they only capable of standing each other's company for one meal and couldn't bear any further contact?

…or was it that Pansy didn't wave them over during lunch and dinner?

"You're enthusiastic for so early in the morning," Ron said blearily, sitting in the seat opposite her.

"I may not be getting my own gifts, but I'm living vicariously through Draco's," she said cheerfully.

"Does that mean you're not going to try to steal them anymore?" Malfoy asked sullenly.

"Of course not," she replied. "But you did let me help with the Tentacula potion, so if you get something else we can share, I'm happy."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "You chopped ingredients for two hours."

"And afterwards you gave me a draught of the potion," she said. "I'll chop anything you want if I get—"

"Shut up," Malfoy whispered. "The professors are right there. Do you know how much trouble we'd be in?"

"I wasn't going to say what it was," she huffed. "You never trust me."

Harry's stomach was twisting. Yes, of course he'd gotten the Tentacula leaves legally. It hadn't occurred to him that most of their uses were against school rules. Whatever they had made was his fault.

"When you go out of your way to inform me you'll be blabbing all my secrets to my _sworn enemy_, I have no reason to," Malfoy replied irritably.

His stomach worsened. Sworn enemies, of course. Sworn enemies who were participating in a brief truce and happened to share a few meals together. Just sworn enemies, and nothing else.

"You're in a mood," Harry said, sounding rather touchy himself.

"Couldn't sleep."

Pansy smirked. "He was up all night because he's _besotted_. He didn't even get into bed until four."

"I am not," Malfoy snapped. "Fucking Merlin, Pansy, you were up too, complaining about Blaise. I couldn't think about anyone else even if I wanted to, not with your nagging."

"Well he hasn't written me once," she pouted. "And it's Monday. He promised he'd write every day."

"I'm not going over this again," he muttered. "If you want to date a prat, fine, but don't rub it in my face."

Harry was stuck. He couldn't move past besotted. He understood conversation had continued past that, but he hadn't heard it. Malfoy liked someone? Enough to lose sleep over it? And he was gay. The conversation had a very clear direction it needed to proceed in, and Harry was going to make it happen.

"I can't imagine you besotted, Malfoy," Harry said with a slightly arrogant smirk. He waited for a kick from Ron and it didn't come. So far so good.

"I'm not, so don't strain yourself," Malfoy replied. "Pansy gets grand ideas and doesn't know when to shut up about them."

"When have I ever been wrong about who you fancy?" she asked. "Merlin, I knew you were gay before you did."

"There's a difference between _maybe slightly fancying someone _and being _besotted_," he said. "And you have been wrong. Remember that—" He winced. "You know what I'm talking about. The thing fifth year."

Pansy smirked. "I do know, and I wasn't wrong. He just left before you could get in over your head."

"It was _one incident_," Malfoy said. "One thing that might have sort of caught my attention were it not enacted by such a—a—"

"Weasley?" Pansy suggested sweetly.

Harry choked on his toast. Ron spit out a mouthful of orange juice. Malfoy turned a bright, bright red. Pansy giggled.

"_I never had a crush on a Weasley!_" Malfoy yelled. "Bloody Christ, stop looking at me like that! I _didn't_! I _never will_! And," he added, whirling on Pansy, "I've never had a crush on a professor, now have I?"

Pansy stopped laughing. "You wouldn't."

Malfoy smirked. "Oh, I absolutely would. Can we consider the conversation over, or must I completely and thoroughly humiliate you?"

She glared at him. "Fine. Never mind."

"No!" Ron said indignantly. "Not never mind! This is my family we're talking about. It could be _me_, for all I know!"

Malfoy made a gagging noise. "It will never, ever be you. And no matter what that _idiot_ says, it will never, ever, _ever_ be a Weasley. Like I said, there was a single incident that _may_ have intrigued me had it not been one of your lot. But it was, and I was _not_ intrigued, and that's the end of it."

"Fred and George," Hermione said suddenly. "The spectacle when they left. That's all I can think of from fifth year that might 'intrigue' you. I can hardly blame you for fancying one of them, they are quite—" She cut off at the look Ron was giving her. "_I_ don't fancy George! I was just saying it's not hard to see why someone _else_ might!"

"I'm done with this conversation," Ron said firmly.

"Thank you," Malfoy muttered. "And if you were curious, Pansy was obsessed with one Severus Snape for _years_."

She hit Malfoy. "I was not!"

Malfoy just smirked to himself as Pansy defended herself and Harry tried to come to terms with what had been said. Malfoy had fancied one of the Weasley twins? Because they exploded a bunch of fireworks in Umbridge's face, in his _own_ face, actually, because he was on the Inquisitorial Squad. So. Um. Harry would have to do something flashy that humiliated Malfoy? That didn't seem right.

Then again, Malfoy fancying a Weasley was a far cry from right.

"Post," Harry announced numbly. Not only had Malfoy fancied a Weasley, but he fancied someone _now_. That couldn't be good. There was no way he'd already like Harry; if it was even possible, he'd have to be persuaded. That was the whole point of the gift giving, to persuade him. If he was already emotionally involved with someone, there was virtually no chance of convincing him otherwise.

He watched absently as Malfoy unwrapped his gift. The gift that didn't matter, because Malfoy already fancied someone. What was it that he said, maybe slightly fancying someone? That might not be the end of the world. Maybe he could still be convinced otherwise. Or maybe he'd be too busy thinking of this someone to entertain even the notion of someone else. Maybe he'd need to see if whoever it was fancied him back before he'd sink to even considering Harry.

Also a Weasley? Really? Yes, it was practically impossible not to be attracted to the twins, but, well, _Malfoy_? Really? Harry wasn't anything like the twins. If that was Malfoy's type, he was screwed. Should he have gotten him a gift or two at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes? That had seemed so unlikely at the time, but maybe he'd missed a big opportunity.

"Fuck!" Malfoy exclaimed, and Harry focused himself. Did he really not like his gift that much? He'd thought it would be useful. Maybe not romantic, but useful.

"Feeling extra entitled this morning?" Harry asked irritably and, shit, maybe a little hurt. He focused on the irritability. "Not what you wanted?"

"No, it's bloody _perfect_," Malfoy said, turning the stirring rod over in his hands. "I've only brewed with tungsten with Snape." He looked sad for a moment, then shook himself. "No, it's that it would've been perfect for yesterday's potion." He dropped his voice. "I went through four of Slughorn's glass stirrers. Merlin, whoever's doing this is daft. Tools _before_ ingredients, really."

Okay, insulted and complimented at the same time. That was about on par for Malfoy.

"Maybe they're just not into potions," Harry suggested. "So it didn't occur to them."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Clearly."

"Yet again: I told you so," Pansy said. "It couldn't be her. No self-respecting Slytherin isn't 'into' potions."

"You've made your point," Malfoy snapped. "Repeatedly." He tapped the end of the stirrer against his chin. "I don't know what I should brew first. This deserves something special. Acidic, caustic, sludge, concrete, something to show it off."

"You're not going to have an audience," Pansy said. "I promised myself I'd start on homework today. And unless you let me pick the potion, I doubt you'd brew something I happen to want two days in a row."

Malfoy seemed lost in thought. "No, no homemade Firewhiskey today. What could I make with Bundimum secretion other than cleaning products? I have far better things to do with my time than make soap."

"Apparently not," Ron muttered under his breath.

"You could check the potions book you got," Harry said innocently. "Maybe your admirer isn't as daft as you think."

Malfoy eyed him. "I refuse to call anything you say clever, but that isn't the _worst_ idea I've ever heard."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're welcome, Malfoy."

**18**

Malfoy and Goyle arrived at lunch without Pansy, and immediately sat with Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"Are any of you free after lunch?" Malfoy asked, rummaging around in his bag for something.

They stared at each other.

"Er," Ron said.

"I've got homework," Hermione replied.

"Why?" Harry asked.

Malfoy pulled out the old potions book and opened it to a bookmarked page. "It's a recipe for Cinnamon Galleons. It specifically warns that before it cools it must be constantly stirred with something impervious to heat lest it melt."

"And?" Harry asked.

"You need to stir while adding ingredients," Malfoy said. "Pansy got a Floo call from Blaise and so she'll be busy for the rest of the day, and Goyle's got homework."

"You don't?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

Malfoy sniffed. "Nothing more important than this. All you'd need to do is stir while I add a few ingredients. Five minutes, tops."

Ron smirked. "Malfoy, begging for potions help from Gryffindors. I like it. Almost enough to make up for fancying one of my brothers."

Malfoy flushed slightly. "I'll split the candy with whoever helps."

Harry, who had no taste for cinnamon candies, asked, "Five minutes for half the Galleons?"

"Approximately, yes," Malfoy said, and Harry didn't trust that at all.

Nor did he like cinnamon.

He sighed valiantly. "Fine, but only for the candy."

Malfoy grinned at him, and his stomach flipped. "After lunch, then?"

"Yeah, whatever," Harry said, trying to sound uninterested. He didn't trust himself to say anything else, and had received no kicks from Ron so far, so he focused on his lunch and remained silent for the rest of the meal.

"Okay," Malfoy said, setting his empty glass down. "Potter, you ready to go?"

Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione, who just shrugged. "Right," he sighed. "Yeah, let's do this."

They started the walk down to the dungeons in silence, but without Ron and Hermione's watchful eyes and Pansy and Goyle, Harry found he didn't have as much of a reason to keep silent.

"The Weasley twins?" he asked.

Malfoy groaned. "Don't you dare. You're here to help me, that's it."

"No, I'm here doing you a favor," Harry corrected. "Which means I get to ask you uncomfortable questions, and I want to hear about the Weasleys."

Malfoy quickened his pace, but Harry easily kept up. "I don't want to talk about it," he said.

"Well I do," Harry replied. He knew he was pushing it and he couldn't help it. He'd been holding back for too long and he still couldn't say so many things and so the things he could say, he was going to say them. "Fireworks are all it takes to woo you? Too bad your admirer didn't know that."

"It wasn't the fireworks," Malfoy muttered. "I mean, fine, the fireworks helped. But it was how uninhibited, how they stood for something so they just _did _it, in as big and obvious a way as possible. I was raised to be so reserved and held back all the time, a display like that was just—" He broke off. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."

"Because I'm making you," Harry said, trying to keep his voice even. "Who was it? Fred or George?"

"Fred," Draco said, teeth clenched. "For a _day_. Not even. _Part_ of a day. I'm sure you've never had an embarrassing crush before."

Harry chose not to mention his current crush. "Nope."

Malfoy stared at him. "Never."

"Not once," Harry said, not happy with the way the conversation was going. "Pansy had a think for Snape, eh?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Malfoy said, voice flat. "I'm not avoiding, I'd love to embarrass Pansy, I just don't want to talk about Snape. I'm sure you've lost enough people to understand."

Harry fell silent. He did know, very well, and even if he had still hated Malfoy he wouldn't have forced him to talk about it.

"Goyle's still a virgin," Malfoy said suddenly.

Harry glanced at him. "Is that supposed to be a surprise?"

Malfoy smiled slightly. "Fair enough. I still don't owe you anything. You were supposed to be telling me about _your_ embarrassing sex life, not mine, or my friends'. You know about Fred, and Pansy, and Goyle. You owe me."

"If you want to talk about all that fine, but that doesn't mean I'm going to tell you," Harry said. The nerves were back, and this conversation needed to end. "Do you have the ingredients for the potion?"

"I gathered them before lunch," Malfoy replied. "I wouldn't have demanded assistance, especially yours, if I wasn't positive I could brew it."

"I can't believe I'm brewing potions for fun," Harry said. "With you, of all people," he added, remembering that he should. Then, feeling brave, "But hey, in the spirit of the truce, why not with you?"

Malfoy glanced at him. "Okay, fine. No animosity." He led them into the potions classroom, where there was a cauldron and a pile of ingredients on the table next to it. Malfoy pulled the new stirrer out of his bag with a strange, half-smile, and set to work preparing.

"Mind if I do homework?" Harry asked, at the table in front of Malfoy's. He twisted himself around so he could see Malfoy.

"No, it's fine," he replied, not looking up from—actually, Harry wasn't sure what it was he was preparing. But Malfoy did glance at his new stirrer, again with that half-smile.

"You really like your stirrer, don't you?" Harry asked, feeling very pleased with himself.

Malfoy shook himself. "It's practical," he said. Then he smiled, a real, actual smile. "And yes, I do, thank you very much. Whoever my secret admirer is, they have good taste. It's hard to say how well they know me, because it's hardly a surprise I enjoy high-quality potion tools, but still. I'm actually rather excited to find out who this is, as long as it's not that second year."

Harry was getting more and more excited. Merlin, this conversation had a lot of ups and downs. He was starting to think it was entirely possible that _he_ was the second year fangirl. "Even if it's a girl?"

Malfoy looked up. "You do know who it is, don't know? It's obvious Weasley knows, and I figured anything he knows you do. Don't suppose I could convince you to tell me."

"Um, no, I don't know," Harry stammered. "Neither does Ron, really. Those were just coincidences."

"Well you seem to know it's a girl," Malfoy replied.

"I really don't," Harry insisted. "I was just—asking about your sexuality, I guess."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, then turned back to his preparations. "Whoever it was went through a lot of trouble, and it would be cruel of me not to at least consider it. Which I would normally be fine with, but we have that stupid truce, and I promised to be decent."

"Only to me, Ron and Hermione," Harry pointed out. "Treat whoever this is however you want."

Malfoy chuckled. "I thought I'd stay within this whole 'Christmas spirit' business. Also Pansy threatened to do unspeakable things to me if I wasn't nice."

Harry smiled. "I don't suppose I could get you to say that to Ron? He refuses to believe you can be reasonable."

"This has been discussed enough for you to argue on my behalf?" Malfoy asked lightly.

"Just since we saw that you and your friends were the only ones our year who were staying," Harry lied. "He was, um, not pleased."

"And you were?" he asked in that same tone of voice.

"All I said is that you're sometimes reasonable," Harry said. "Don't get cocky."

Malfoy smirked. "Whatever you say."

Harry turned to his desk and got out his homework. He couldn't figure out this conversation, and he was scared of what he would say without the threat of Ron, who kicked very hard. "Believe whatever you want," he said, taking out his half-finished transfiguration essay. "I've got homework."

"And I've got to play with my new toy," Malfoy said. "That my secret admirer got me for Christmas. I believe I win."

"And I believe I won't be stuck doing homework at three in the morning the last day of vacation," Harry replied, mentally thanking Hermione for the line.

**19**

"Potter, I need you."

A very large inkblot appeared on Harry's parchment.

"Your hands, I mean."

A second inkblot.

"To add ingredients!" Malfoy snapped. "Fucking Christ."

Harry turned around, smiling slightly and forcing the blush away. "I thought you needed me to stir."

"My gift, I'm stirring," Malfoy said. "I'll talk you through the ingredients."

"If you say so," Harry said, standing up and looking over the potion. He jerked back, and the resulting screech of the table legs on the stone floor was drastically unpleasant. "Fuck, Malfoy, that fire is way too high. You're going to burn the castle down."

"That's how it's supposed to be, that's why I get to play with my new toy," Malfoy replied. "Now that white powder over there, it's already on a piece of paper, I need you to pour it in. Slowly. As slowly as your bumbling hands can manage."

"You keep going on about my hands," Harry teased, picking up the paper and slowly letting the powder fall into the cauldron. "Do wizards know who Freud is?"

"No," Malfoy replied irritably. "You're going too fast. Slow down."

Harry was feeling rather hysterical, and it took a lot of energy not to burst out into giggles. "Sorry," Harry said, voice strained. He cleared his throat. "Sorry."

"That's better," Malfoy said. "Like that."

Harry finished pouring the powder, and looked up for instructions, which was a mistake. The flame from the cauldron was extraordinarily high and bright, and Malfoy's eyes were doing that sparkling thing again. His mind started to melt and all he could thing of were words for how they looked. Grey was too simple. Steel was too hard. Slate implied a hint of blue when there wasn't one. Clouds on a rainy day was too sad.

"The purple vial next," Malfoy said. "Over there. In three stirs, dump the whole thing in."

Harry was having a lot of trouble looking away. The color of the Black Lake when it was iced over. That was close.

"Potter, that's two stirs now," Malfoy said. "What are you doing?"

A grey cat, that was close. He was cat-like, the way he was slinky and elegant and mysterious and kind of an asshole.

"One more stir," Malfoy said. "Why are you playing with me?"

Grey smoke! That was it. Exactly that.

"Potter!" Malfoy yelled. "Now! Purple vial! All of it!"

Harry jumped. He grabbed the vial, nearly knocking it over, and dumped it in. The potion sizzled, letting off a grey smoke—which wasn't funny at all—and Malfoy reached across with his free hand and smacked his head.

"What's wrong with you?" he snapped. "A purple vial. Three stirs. No wonder you're failing potions."

"I'm not failing," Harry muttered, turning away and raking a hand through his hair. That was inexcusable. Really, really, not okay. He turned back. "What next?"

Malfoy's eyes were narrowed. _Angry_ smoke. Harry didn't even know that existed. "The real question is whether or not I can trust you to follow even the simplest of directions."

"Of course I can," Harry said, leaving out the probably part. "Just tell me."

Malfoy continued to study him. Then he jerked his head towards the cutting board. "The shaved cinnamon bark is next. Not for a full minute, though. I'll tell you when to add it, if you think you can listen."

"I'm fine," Harry said irritably, picking up the piece of paper in preparation.

"So are we just going to ignore the fact that you just got lost in my eyes?" Malfoy asked, smirking.

"You're delusional," Harry said firmly. "This secret admirer thing is going to your head."

"Then what did happen?" Malfoy asked.

"I zoned out, that's all," Harry replied. "Don't tell me you've never gotten distracted before."

"Of course I have," Malfoy replied. "But not while staring into someone else's eyes, not unless I'm attracted to them. And really, not even then. That's pathetic."

"I _told _you, it had nothing to do with you," Harry snapped. "I just—"

"Cinnamon bark," Malfoy interrupted. "Add it smoothly. Not slowly, just steadily."

He poured the cinnamon in. The flames blazed out, the potion turned a bright, dangerous red. The smell of cinnamon flared up, so strongly he sneezed several times and his eyes watered.

"Was that right?" he asked, wiping at his eyes.

"Yeah," Malfoy said, then coughed. "Go back to your homework. I need to stir."

"Right," Harry said, still wiping his eyes. "So that's not going to happen, my eyes won't stop watering and I can't see."

"I told you the potion is caustic," Malfoy said, and Harry saw his eyes were bloodshot and shiny with unshed tears. "You can go, I can do the rest on my own. I don't want your friends thinking I've made you cry."

Harry glared at him. "You said you needed help and I told you I would. I'm not going to back out."

"I have to stir for a half hour, and then add that red stuff over there," he said, blinking repeatedly. "I can make it work. There's no point in you staying."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked. "I'm letting you boss me around as much as you want, and you're telling me to leave?"

"We shall never speak of that sentence again," Malfoy said. "But yes, go. I'll bring you the candy at dinner."

"All right then," Harry said, gathering his things. "I'll see you at dinner."

**20**

Harry didn't say anything when he met up with Ron and Hermione in the library. Instead he sat down, took out his paper, and went back to work. His eyes didn't stop watering for a good ten minutes, and he was aware that he probably looked like he was crying, but he couldn't think of what else to say. Malfoy was nice to him; they wouldn't believe that. He had accidentally made a complete arse out of himself; that was believable, but he wasn't ready to admit it yet. Malfoy had an open mind regarding his secret admirer and was willing to give whoever it was a chance; hat he wasn't willing to admit to himself yet. He was afraid it would go to his head, and in fact had a suspicion it already had, given how idiotic he had been.

He finished his essay a few minutes before they had to leave for dinner. He put his things away and relaxed for a moment, gathering the courage to spend another meal with Malfoy. It would be fine. As long as he didn't look in his eyes. Or think about them. Or any of those things.

Fine.

It would be fine.

"It was the cinnamon, by the way," Harry said suddenly. "Why I was tearing up. I wasn't crying. I don't expect you to believe me, but just so you know. It was cinnamon."

"I know," Hermione said calmly. "Your eyes are still bloodshot and it's been almost an hour. If you had been crying, your eyes would be puffy but white, and you'd still be sniffling. I'm kind of curious why you didn't share that information right away, but I assumed you'd tell us eventually."

"It was fine," Harry said, which wasn't exactly untrue. It balanced out to fine. "I did homework until he needed me, and then I added some stuff I didn't recognize, and then I left. He's bringing me my share of the candy at dinner. He had more stirring to do."

"Speaking of dinner," Ron said, closing his book. "I'm starved."

They didn't sit with Malfoy, Pansy and Goyle at dinner; the Ravenclaws arrived after they did and before the Slytherins, leaving no room for them. Harry didn't realize the ramifications of this until Malfoy suddenly appeared right next to him, leaning an elbow on the table and holding out a paper bag. His face was only a few inches away from Harry's. He still smelled like cinnamon, and his eyes were still red.

"Your half," he said, and his voice had a bit of a scratch to it. "Not a word about how I look or sound, Pansy's been informing me the whole way up."

"Er, no, you're fine," Harry stammered, taking the bag. "I mean, y'know. Cinnamon."

"Your eyes are still red, too," Malfoy said, not moving from his position. "That potion may not have been a good idea. The Cinnamon Dollars are incredible, though. I sampled one on the way up."

"They didn't dissolve your mouth?" Harry asked, which he was legitimately concerned about.

Malfoy stuck out his tongue, moving it from side to side and up and down and he was _really_ close and this was not okay. "Still intact," he said with a small smirk. "So kind of you to ask." Then he was gone, and Harry slowly remembered how to beat his heart and work his lungs, and eventually returned to eating.

"You know how you looked then, right?" Ron asked. "I would've kicked you, but I was enjoying myself too much."

"Shut up."

**Day Ten**

**21**

"I want Granger to open her gift first," Malfoy declared as Harry, Ron and Hermione sat down.

Hermione gave him a confused look. "Why?"

"I want to examine it," Malfoy replied. "For a while there our gifts were synced up, but I'm not convinced they still aren't. It might be less obvious than matching candles or Christmas crackers, hence the need for examination. I completely missed what you got yesterday, and I'm not going to let another day slip by, not when we're so close to Christmas.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and Ron kicked Harry. "If it's that important to you, fine."

"I thought you'd already decided it's a coincidence," Ron said.

"Hardly," Malfoy scoffed, and then his expression changed to genuine confusion. "What would give you that idea?"

"That you've stopped paying attention to what Hermione's getting," Harry said, shin aching dully. He'd get Ron back for that; the kicking system was to prevent him from embarrassing himself, not for Malfoy's words, which he had no control over.

Malfoy smirked. "I was merely distracted by the quality of gifts I was getting. If Granger opens her gift first, no distraction.

"Have you got pierced ears?" Ron asked.

Hermione hit his arm. "Ron! Don't ruin the surprise!"

"I didn't, I'm just asking a question," Ron replied. "Do you?"

Malfoy snorted. "Of course not."

"Then you're not getting the same thing."

Hermione swatted him with both hands, smiling and scowling at the same time. "Ronald Weasley, do not ruin Christmas for me!"

Harry had to contain a smile. And wonder why Ron had kicked him. Yes, the gifts had come from the same store, but it wouldn't be that obvious.

Unless the boxes had the name of the jeweler on them.

Which they did.

Harry no longer felt the urge to smile. This was bad, very bad. How was he supposed to cover this up? He shouldn't have used the official box in the first place at all, regardless of Ron's intentions. The shop was expensive, far too expensive for a secret admirer. It had just seemed so perfect, and he hadn't been able to pass it up, and oh god, tomorrow's was even more expensive, Merlin he was so screwed.

"Harry, have you got any Cinnamon Galleons left?" Pansy asked.

Harry was startled enough by the use of his first name that it took him a minute to answer. In fact he had the entire bag, minus one that he had tried _very_ hard to enjoy, but it had burned like an Acid Pop and tasted like concentrated cinnamon and he hadn't been able to manage.

Nor was he willing to give them away for reasons that weren't sentimental at all.

"Not for you," he replied.

Pansy groaned. "You boys, you never share you candy with me. It's downright _rude_ not to share. What happened to our truce?"

"Candy wasn't mentioned," Harry replied, scanning the ceiling for owls and looking for an excuse to slip out before post arrived. "Sorry, you're on your owl."

"Take it up with Blaise," Malfoy said. "He's the one not sending you gifts, or brewing you homemade candies. Leave off Potter, he's got no reason to share with you."

Was that—had Malfoy jut _defended_ him?

"Y'know, I just remembered, I've got Slughorn's potion simmering, and I need to check on it," Harry said, starting to back out of his seat.

Hermione made an exaggerated sad face. "I want to show you my earrings."

"You can show them to me later," Harry said, standing and looking nervous for the owls. "Besides, I saw when Ron bought them."

"But you haven't seen them _on_," she insisted. "I haven't worn nice earrings since the Yule Ball. Please, Harry? Just this once, remember I'm a girl?"

Harry looked pained. "Hermione, the potion…"

"If you don't sit back down, I'm going to know you're my admirer," Malfoy said. "Why else would you be so eager to leave before the post arrives? You've been eyeing the ceiling since you sat down."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Or maybe it's because I have a _potion_."

"Draco does have a point, you know," Pansy said. "You are being awfully suspicious."

Harry groaned. "All right, fine. But if my potion is ruined, you're brewing me another." He sat back down and busied himself with breakfast. No more looking for owls, just eating his eggs. "Hermione, I'm sorry I hurt your feelings. I'm sure you'll look beautiful. And Malfoy, sorry to deflate your ego, but it's really not me."

"I don't believe you," Malfoy replied, smirking. "But it's only a few days until Christmas, and then I'll know for sure."

Harry let out a huff and glared at him, making eye contact, nearly losing himself in the dancing smoke. "And what, exactly, would you do if it was me?"

Ron kicked him again.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "You want to know what I'd do if you're my secret admirer? Why, pray tell?"

"You're the one who's so fixated on the idea," Harry shot back. "This is what, the third or fourth time you've brought it up? If I didn't know better, I'd think you _wanted_ it to be me."

Another, harder kick, delivered exactly on top of the other. He'd have a bruise, but he didn't care. His heart was pounding, blood rushing in his ears, all focus concentrated on Malfoy. He was aware everyone was staring at the two of them.

"Well," Malfoy said slowly. "Like I said, given the caliber of my gifts, the thought that went into them and the level of potential embarrassment, I'd at least want to talk about it. I believe I also said I'd give my admirer a chance, did I not? As—uncomfortable as that would be, it's only fair."

A talk. A chance. Uncomfortable. A chance. Talking. A chance, what, a date? Coherent enough for a conversation? Uncomfortable, uncomfortable, uncomfortable.

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "Never thought I'd hear those words coming from your mouth. Good thing it's not me, then. I wouldn't want to make the precious Draco Malfoy uncomfortable."

Uncomfortable. A chance. A talk.

A talk.

A chance.

Uncomfortable.

"Anyone would be better than her," Malfoy said, jerking his head towards the second year Slytherin.

"And he's the right gender," Pansy said. "Plus he's your type, don't you think? Dark hair, shorter than you, just slightly muscled but not too much. Those eyes all the girls go gaga over."

"You're stretching the definition," Malfoy replied haughtily. "You've left out clever, funny, sharing my love of potions. Oh, and someone I don't utterly despise."

Harry's stomach was twisting and roiling and he thought he might throw up.

"Don't be ridiculous, you don't hate him," Pansy said. "You haven't since—_ow_! Don't kick me!"

Harry chanced a look up. Malfoy looked annoyed, and maybe a little embarrassed? "Since when, Malfoy?" he asked tauntingly. "When did I win over the Prince of Slytherin?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Hardly. It was decent of you to return my wand, that's all. And you certainly didn't need to attend my father's trial, yet there you were."

"I went to as many trials as I could," Harry replied. "No need to think you're special."

"And that, Potter, is why I dislike you," Malfoy retorted. "Perhaps despise is too strong a word, but I assure you I feel nothing approaching even neutrality."

"Good to know the feeling's mutual," Harry said sharply.

"Truce," Hermione interrupted. "We're in a truce. Stop insulting each other."

"My mistake, I forgot," Malfoy replied, completely seriously. "Harry, I've secretly been in love with you for years now, and I can't imagine my life without you. You're clever and handsome and—"

"Oh, shove it," Harry snapped. That was worse than being insulted. Much, much worse. "If you want a compliment, you're not getting one from me."

"I'm hurt," Malfoy said, putting a hand on his heart. "I bared my soul to you, and you tell me to bugger off. Granger, doesn't that violate the rules of the truce?"

"You certainly are," Hermione said. "Leave Harry alone."

"_He's_ the one who's rejecting _me_," Malfoy insisted. "And _I'm_ supposed to leave _him_ alone? I think you've got your priorities backwards."

"Post is here," Pansy said. "Now grow up, both of you, and take your packages."

"I don't have a package," Harry muttered.

"Granger needs to open her earrings before I open anything," Malfoy said. "Even if it's from my beloved Harry Potter."

Harry kicked out, very hard, and Malfoy let out a yelp.

Hermione unwrapped the box, and let out a small gasp. "You went to Altan Flurin's? Ron, that's far too much. You didn't need to do that."

He blushed a bright scarlet. "It's our first Christmas together," he mumbled. "I wanted it to be special."

She kissed his cheek. "Just being with you is special."

"Ugh," Malfoy muttered under his breath. Harry happened to agree.

"Go on, open it," Ron urged. "The gift is better than the box, I promise."

She flipped open the box and sighed. "Oh, Ron, they're lovely." She quickly took out the studs she had been wearing and replaced them with the new earrings. Harry had to admit they looked wonderful on her. There was a very small diamond with a chain leading down to another, pear shaped diamond. Harry happened to know Ron had gotten the money from George, who Harry had reminded he had given him the startup money, but there was no reason to tell Hermione that.

"Very pretty," Harry said. "A little odd with jeans and a sweatshirt, but still good."

She tried and failed to contain a smile. "I think they look good with anything," she replied, pulling her hair back to show them off properly.

Malfoy observed this with poorly masked surprise. "Altan Flurin's for you," he mused, slowly removing the wrapping paper. "And yes, Altan Flurin's for me. Weasley, you have an accomplice."

Pansy looked skeptical. "Even I can't believe that's a coincidence. So who is it, Weasley? Did a Slytherin bribe you to help them shop, is that how you afforded those earrings? Or did you decide to help out a friend? A very _close_ friend? Perhaps your _best friend_?"

"Once again, not me," Harry said. "Though I am wondering what Malfoy would want from a jewelry store."

"Plenty of things," Malfoy replied, running his fingers over the velvet box. "I've been known to wear a pendant, if it's not too feminine, as well as plain, silver bracelets. It depends on my mood."

"If somebody knows you that well, they're stalking you," Pansy said. "The last time you wore a necklace it was your family's crest, and it was only during the trials, and you kept it under your shirt. Then again, Potter was at your father's trial." She turned to Harry, eyes glinting. "Potter, did you stalk Draco?"

"No," Harry said. "I saw him, but we didn't talk. It wasn't exactly a social occasion."

"I don't think it's a stretch that Malfoy would wear jewelry," Ron said. "He's pretty feminine."

"I am not," Malfoy replied, distracted. He looked up from the box, and he looked a little worried. "I hate to say it, but Granger is right. This is too much. I don't even know who it's from."

Pansy crossed her arms and pursed her lips. "Are you seriously upset that you got something from Flurin's?"

"I wouldn't use those words," Malfoy replied.

Harry's stomach was sinking. Why hadn't he thought this through? Once Ron had convinced him to go along with it he'd just kind of gotten swept up in the idea, not realizing there would be repercussions beyond a heart crushing rejection when Malfoy found out it was him. Now it was obvious—as if twelve days of Christmas wasn't bad enough, this was pathetically, creepily overbearing.

"Maybe whoever it is just has a lot of money," Harry suggested. "So it wouldn't occur to them how expensive it was." That was awful and egotistical, but at least Malfoy didn't know it was him. "Aren't all Slytherins filthy rich?"

"True," Malfoy said. "But still. I barely recognize the feeling, but I think it's guilt."

Ron was staring at him like he'd grown a second head. "Could it be you're human after all?"

"Truce," Harry said automatically. He was feeling guilty too, terribly so, and couldn't say anything. It really hadn't occurred to him, which was awful, and insensitive given that he'd been shopping with Ron.

"Just open it," Hermione said. "Take the gift and be happy that someone actually cares enough about your cold, heartless soul to spend money on you."

"Truce," Harry said again.

"I'm going to make a rash declaration," Malfoy said, and Harry listened very carefully. "I know I said I'd give whoever this is a chance, but I'm going to rephrase. I think I may be in love with this person."

All five of them stared at him.

"I'm not joking," he continued. "Nobody has ever been this nice to me before. This stopped being a joke a few days ago, and this gift just solidifies it. Whoever this is, this admirer, I'm clearly more than a passing fancy." He laughed quietly. "Imagine me, in a serious relationship."

There was silence. Harry couldn't think at all. However serious he was, he wasn't serious. That was a given. What was new, though, was this sweet, vulnerable side of Malfoy, the side who had—and Harry found this hard to believe—never had a real relationship.

"Just open the box," Pansy said suddenly, startling everyone. "It could be something you hate. Be sure you like it before you make declarations."

Malfoy nodded. "Yeah, okay." He took a deep breath, then laughed derisively. He stopped looking nervous and open and went back to smirking. "I'm being ridiculous. I got distracted by Christmas spirit. Just for making me say things like that, I won't give them the time of day."

"You're an immature prat," Pansy said. "Now open the box or I'll do it for you."

He opened the box. Then he swore. "I like it," he said, almost whining. "Fuck, it's perfect."

Harry might have been tearing himself in half.

"Do share," Pansy said.

Malfoy took a silver watch out of the box and held it up to be admired. It had a light green face with no numbers or letters, just hands. He put it on, and it shrunk to fit his wrist. "Quite lovely," he said, sounding dejected. "I guess I am in love. Bound to happen some day. I thought I'd know who it was before I fell for them, but, well…"

Ron kicked Harry. Harry wasn't sure why since he hadn't said anything and he was pretty sure he looked neutral if not mildly bored. Was he supposed to say something, was that it? And what exactly what was that something? "Hey, that's me! Let's go have that conversation and that chance and make sure it's uncomfortable?" Right.

"So what's this about a chance?" Ron asked after a moment of silence. "What does your first love deserve?"

"I suppose that depends on the next two days," Malfoy said, admiring the watch. "And on who it is. I wonder if I get something special on Christmas Eve? Weasley, are you doing something special?"

Ron blushed. "I am, and you don't get to do that, not the person I'm doing it with."

"Ron be quiet," Hermione warned. "You've already ruined today's gift, don't ruin tomorrow's as well."

"You're also getting something at breakfast, don't worry," Ron said. "Christmas Eve morning and Christmas Eve night are completely different."

"Oh," she said with a smile. "Okay, then."

Malfoy looked disgusted. "I don't need to hear anything about that," he said. "I meant your gift. Or something romantic."

"I'm not saying a word about my gift," Ron said, glancing at Hermione. "And of course I'm doing something romantic. Christmas Eve night. But I actually get to _see_ my girlfriend because I know who she _is_."

"I'm curious about this, too," Pansy said. "What _are_ you going to do? We went through you blowing them off the first few days, potentially curious after the hair gel, genuinely interested once the potions supplies started, and now you're in love. So spill. What're your plans?"

Malfoy flushed, and Harry was once again on the edge of his seat. Metaphorically; he couldn't risk someone noticing if he did it literally.

"I suppose a thank you kiss is in order," Malfoy said, and Harry's hear stopped yet again. "Mouth versus cheek depends on who it is. Everything, really, depends on who it is."

Pansy elbowed him with a sly smile. "Your besotted is still in the running."

Malfoy swatted her arm away. "Stop using that word. I don't want to talk about it."

Pansy sighed. "Do you want me to just ask him?"

Malfoy looked at her, horrified. "No! Don't you dare. I'll tell Blaise about that time—"

She paled. "I was drunk," she interrupted. "And he was being an arse."

"He's always an arse," Malfoy replied. "Anyway, I'll find out on Christmas." Then he looked sort of sad. "It won't be him. It doesn't matter."

"Then you'll ask him out after Christmas?" Pansy said. "Like you promised me you would?"

Malfoy flinched. "This is not a conversation to share with the _present company_." He swept his hand at Harry, Ron and Hermione. "We'll discuss it later."

"You should just be with whoever is sending the gifts," Hermione said, fingering one of her earrings. "Nobody else is going to be this romantic, ever. You may be some people's definition of attractive—not mine—but you're an arse. Take what you can get." Harry kicked her. "And, really, this person sounds pretty wonderful. I'd go for it."

"I'm done with this conversation," Malfoy said. "End of story. From all of you." He glanced at his new watch, and smiled slightly. "But we're done."

"Nobody said anything, Draco," Pansy said.

"We're done."

**22**

"Guys?"

"Don't start," Ron said as they walked into the common room.

"If you start you'll never stop," Hermione continued.

Harry felt like he was going to explode. "I need to start."

"No," Ron said. "We were both there. We know what happened. We don't need to spend the next eight hours discussing it."

"I'm not going to not talk about it," Harry said. "I'll make you a deal. Have a conversation with me about one thing that just happened, or be talked at for the next sixteen hours."

Ron looked pained. He turned to Hermione.

"Well?" he asked.

She sighed. "I suppose. All right, Harry, what do you want to talk about? Chose carefully."

Harry ran through everything. There was Malfoy convinced that he's his admirer. Or when he was deciding what to do about it. How he felt about the watch. Then being in love with whoever sent it.

He decided to leave out the bit about Malfoy feeling guilty about getting a gift from Flurin's, Harry could deal with that himself, later on. And then, he chose his words carefully.

"Malfoy went on and on about thinking I was his admirer, deciding what to do about it, and then declaring he was in love with said admirer," Harry said, turning three things into one. "If I ask a question about my one thing, does that become the only thing, or can we have a full conversation?"

Hermione sighed. "Harry, that's three things. I'm not an idiot. Ask your question, and we'll go from there."

"Did he ever connect being in love with his admirer to me being his admirer?" Harry asked. "I know I sound like a prepubescent schoolgirl, but everything got hazy and I don't remember."

"No," Ron said bluntly. "He didn't. Want me to bring it up next meal?"

"No he doesn't," Hermione said. "And Harry, that was pathetic enough you're hereby cut off from any further conversation. If just one question is that bad, enough is enough. I'm sorry, but you've talked about Malfoy so much since that day in Diagon Alley, and I have homework to do."

Harry looked at her. "Remember when I was there for you sixth year?" he asked angrily. "I listened to you moping about Ron for the whole year. That included while he was dating Lavender. Sitting on the floor, hiding from him together."

"You were hiding from Ginny," Hermione said. "You were just as upset as I was. Do some homework, okay? If you don't, you'll keep me up with you the night before classes start so I can help you. Finish a subject and we'll see."

His look turned into a glare. "I am officially mad at you."

"I'm sorry," she said again. "Really. But I have to do homework. I've been slacking off, and I'm falling way behind."

"We have a week and a half of vacation left," Harry said. "How can you be behind already?"

"Until lunch," she said. "Between lunch and dinner we'll talk. After dinner back to homework. Okay?"

"Okay," Harry said. He sighed. "I'm sorry I'm being a prat."

"Hermione's sorry for only being interested in homework," Ron said. "And I'm sorry for being bored of your whining. I'm doing homework, too."

Harry sighed again. "Fine. I will, too."

**23**

"So Malfoy," Ron said as the Slytherins sat down for lunch. "You said you were convinced Harry was your secret admirer. You also said you're in love with your admirer. Please tell me that means you're in love with Harry, because that would be hilarious."

Harry got up from the table. "I'm bloody sick of this," he snapped. "I don't care if the truce specified teasing as a form of bullying, I'm not going to be in the middle of it. I'll see you later."

"Harry, come on!" Ron called after him. "I was just joking!"

"Potter, you're only backing up his hypothesis," Malfoy added. "Storming off just because Weasley made a joke at your expense? Seems like you must be upset about the content, not the joke. I can't think of a reason why you'd be upset if it weren't true."

"Maybe because this is the hundredth time it's been brought up today?" Harry replied. "It has nothing to do with the content."

"Sit back down," Hermione said. "You're just antsy because you've been working on History of Magic all morning. Relax, and have some lunch."

Harry was having a lot of trouble because he would like to sit down and have lunch, he was very hungry, but he had made a scene. He couldn't decide if it was better to continue the scene and walk out or admit he'd overreacted and sit back down. Either way, he'd make an arse out of himself.

Harry sat back down. Moodily. "Sorry," he muttered. "History of Magic. Just stop making fun of me, okay? Just because I didn't grow up in the wizarding world doesn't mean I'm stupid." That sounded convincing, sort of. "Unless you want me not to help you with your Muggle Studies essay, Ron."

"Point taken," Ron said.

"So if it was you, Potter," Malfoy said as if nothing happened. "If you were my admirer and if I was in love with you—"

"Stop," Harry interrupted. He couldn't take it anymore, that hadn't been a lie. "You hate me, you found a new way of rubbing it in my face that doesn't violate the truce, I get it. But just stop."

"It'd be good news for you," Malfoy said airily. "But fine. Your choice."

"It wouldn't be good news because I hate you and I'm not your admirer and I don't want to be and I _really_ don't want that sort of 'good news' from you, Malfoy," Harry snapped.

There was a long pause. Of all people, Pansy was the one to break it.

"Potter, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Harry said, working to calm down. It was getting to him, that was all. The secrecy, the lying, the suspense, the rising hope, the inevitable letdown. He just wanted it to be over. Tomorrow was going to be even worse than today because he had to get them bloody _custom engraved_, which was idiotic. Then Christmas day, which was supposed to be happy and full of cheer, would be spent miserable and alone. Ron and Hermione would be busy doing things Harry didn't want to think about. Malfoy would be laughing and teasing and torturing. Pansy, who was being oddly nice, would be taking Malfoy's side and laughing right along with him. Goyle never talked.

So yes, Christmas would be awful. He'd just stay in bed and do homework all day, catch up to Hermione, maybe even surpass her. Then he'd be in her good graces, and that would be entirely necessary for the depression Harry would be in for the foreseeable future.

"Leave him alone," Malfoy said. "He's PMSing today, and he's very sensitive."

"Truce," Hermione said.

"I'll rephrase," Malfoy replied. "Leave him alone. Harry's a great person and deserves his space when he asks for it."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Sarcasm is included in the truce."

"I'm not being sarcastic," Malfoy said, and he sounded honest. "Really. Mostly. Potter might not be great, but he's okay, sometimes. And I genuinely don't enjoy his tantrums, so please, for my sake, leave him alone."

She considered, then nodded. "Acceptable."

Harry gathered himself through the rest of lunch. He responded only to direct questions and even then, only barely. The walk back to Gryffindor Tower was quiet, and Harry immediately settled back into homework.

"Do you want to talk?" Hermione asked a few minutes later.

"No," Harry said firmly. "No, not at all. I told you, I'm done with this. If I could change my mind about the gifts tomorrow and Christmas I would, but unfortunately I already gave them to the school owl, who hid them. Ron forced it to, in case I changed my mind. Which would have been fine while I was just sending stupid crap to him, but then I had to go and do this, and now I'm screwed and I don't want to talk about it." He took a deep breath. "I'm working on History of Magic, and that is what I want to focus on."

"Okay," Hermione said quietly. "We're here if you change your mind."

"Both of us," Ron added.

"Brilliant."

**Day Eleven**

**24**

Harry forced himself to be cheery as they walked to the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione were being overly affectionate in the most nauseating sort of way. He was going to be humiliated when Malfoy opened his gift, even if nobody else knew yet. He'd be spending today and tomorrow alone. The rest of the year avoiding Malfoy at all costs.

But cheery. He was cheery.

"Hey," he said, sitting with his Slytherin friends, the ones who hated him and would only despise him more tomorrow.

"Morning," Pansy said brightly. Then she saw Ron and Hermione holding hands, and the way he kept whispering in her ear, and her face dropped. "I miss Blaise," she said. "Actually, as Draco would put it, let me rephrase: I miss dating a decent guy who doesn't treat me like shit."

"Cheers," Harry said, raising his orange juice. "Well, sort of. I'm not seeing anyone and I broke it off with my last girlfriend because I'm gay, but aside from that. Cheers towards finding a decent guy."

"I'll toast to that," Malfoy said, then smirked. "Oh, wait. I've already found one. I don't know who he is, or if he's a he, but I'm set."

Pansy punched his arm. "Shut up. This is a morning for single people. Or soon to be single people. Not soon to be dating people. Switch seats with me." She pushed Malfoy off his seat and sat opposite Harry. "Come on, hon. Let's complain."

"Sorry, I can't," Harry said, genuinely upset. "I promised myself I'd be cheery today. And tomorrow, even though I'll be spending the holiday alone."

"Hey, me too," she said. "If you get lonely, come down to my dorm and we'll get drunk."

Harry snorted. If it weren't for the fact that Malfoy would be there, and Pansy would hate him again by then, it sounded like a good plan. "Maybe tonight."

Pansy glanced at Malfoy. "I might be busy," she said. "Depending on what gift arrives, I may be up all night listening to Draco go on and on."

"Sorry again," he said. "Listening to someone go on and on about their relationship while your sucks—or is nonexistent—I know how that goes." He nodded towards Ron and Hermione.

"I'm sure," she said with a laugh. She looked back over at Malfoy. "Wanna hear some gossip, in the interest of staying cheerful? I'm sure you could always use dirt on Draco."

Harry's stomach clenched. Why did every conversation have to go back to Malfoy? But it would be suspicious if he declined. "Yeah, of course."

She smiled coyly. "Y'know how he said he might be falling in love a little? Head. Over. Heels. You have no idea. I've never seen him like this before. He's a bloody schoolgirl. Pathetic."

Harry forced a laugh. "I literally can't imagine that."

"I couldn't before this," Pansy said. "Don't get me wrong, I've seen him interested in people before, but in an 'I want to have sex and then never see you again' sort of way. Sometimes, if they're a particularly good lay, 'I want to have sex over and over again as often as possible until I get bored of you'. But this? This is ridiculous."

Harry glanced at Malfoy. He looked the same as always, smirking derisively as Ron talked about the Chudley Cannons. "You can't tell."

She shook her head. "You never can. Doesn't matter what he's feeling, he'll never show it."

"As long as we're on the subject of Malfoy," Harry said, knowing he needed to shut up and deciding not to. Everything would be awful soon enough, he might as well get started now. "He fancies someone now? Someone other than the admirer?"

Pansy smirked. "Oh yeah. He's got his heart set on it being him."

"Dare I ask who 'him' is?"

"Sorry, sworn to secrecy," she replied. "You'll find out soon enough."

Harry's heart started racing. "How?"

"I made him promise to ask him out by January first," Pansy said. "Once it's out in the open, if school gossip doesn't get it to you, I'll let it slip in potions."

He laughed anxiously. "I don't care that much. Once it becomes a known fact instead of gossip, it isn't fun anymore."

She laughed. "Fair enough. It is pretty juicy, though. Maybe I'll give you a hint after Christmas, once this gift-giving thing is over. I'll have to see how heart-broken Draco is. He is sort of my best friend, and I can't betray his secrets to his sworn enemy if he's legitimately upset."

"That's sweet, I didn't know Malfoy had real friends," Harry said.

"There are a few of us out there," she replied. "Well. There's me. And Goyle, though he's been pretty quiet since Crabbe… well, you know. And there's always my wonderful Blaise." She smiled bitterly. "If we all didn't hate him, we'd totally be best friends."

"If you hate him, why're you together?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's complicated and nothing that'll keep me cheery."

Malfoy suddenly nudged Pansy. "Post."

Harry's stomach tightened and all his muscles clenched. "Excited?"

"I suppose," Malfoy replied, watching as the owl flew over. "I'm concerned whoever it is will have gotten me something even more extravagant and embarrass themselves even more."

"Then why, exactly, are you wearing the watch?" Pansy asked, shooting a look at Harry.

Malfoy shrugged. "It's a nice watch." The gift landed in front of him, and he gave it a look Harry didn't understand. "Well, bottoms up." He unwrapped the box, and raised his eyebrows. "Flurin's again? They're running out of ideas."

"Ron!" Hermione suddenly squeaked. "A matching necklace, really? You've outdone yourself."

Malfoy smirked. "Ah, of course. The twin gift-giving. If Weasley got two gifts from Flurin's, my admirer would have to follow suit."

"Come on," Pansy said eagerly. "I wanna see."

He opened the box, and looked astonished. "I—fuck, I'm so screwed. Who the hell is this? _Why_ is this?"

"What're you talking about?" Harry asked diligently.

"Personalized cufflinks," Malfoy said, taking them out of the box. They clinked quietly, light glinting off the silver and small emeralds on each end. The other end was marked with _D.M._ "This is out of hand."

Pansy laughed. "Oh come on, you love it."

He gave her a pleading look. "I don't—I would, I mean, but—no."

"I have a suspicion," she said slyly. "And I think this person you're besotted with, the one who you've been ranting and raving about, the one who you desperately want to be your admirer, I suspect they are."

Harry didn't like the sound of that. Or maybe he did, it was very hard to say.

"You don't know anything," Malfoy said. He looked at the cufflinks again, then put them back in the box and stood up. "I have to go." He swept out of the room, and Harry died a little.

"That went well," Harry muttered, looking after him.

Pansy smirked. "It did. He's blown away, I told you. He just doesn't know how to handle it. Draco and emotions, not a great mix. Especially being in love. Whoever this is, I hope they know what they're getting into."

"I've never been happier not to fancy someone," Harry said with no inflection whatsoever.

"Blaise is worse than Draco," Pansy replied. "Well, he's not gay. But other than that."

"Tell me about Blaise," Harry said impulsively. "I need to be distracted."

She gave him a knowing smile. "I thought you might, after seeing Draco's reaction."

Harry gave her a look of confusion. "What're you talking about?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, nothing. Anyway, about Blaise…"

**25**

Malfoy didn't make an appearance at lunch. Harry continued to talk to Pansy, though he carefully kept conversation away from anything related to relationships. Ron and Hermione were still lost in each other, and it would've been sweet were Harry not so concerned with other things.

Dinner, on the other hand.

Harry didn't say a word all through dinner.

Malfoy had dressed up. He was wearing a suit. A fitted suit, perfectly tailored to him. His hair was carefully slicked back, and Harry caught just the slightest hint of cinnamon. Not enough to bother Hermione, but enough for Harry to notice. He was wearing the watch. And the cufflinks. And the bloody top hat.

Harry ate quietly and efficiently. He lingered over dessert until it seemed like Ron and Hermione were almost done, then wolfed down the rest of it.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

They glanced at him. Hermione was also dressed up, though not as much. A simple, dark blue dress, and her new jewelry. Then she exchanged a look with Ron.

"Actually, Harry," she said, turning back to him. "Ron and I were planning on spending the evening alone."

Harry gritted his teeth. "Of course you were."

"Come down to our dorm," Pansy offered. "We've got the—the Tentacula potion. Let's take advantage."

"No, that's okay," Harry said. "I'll just study. Studying's good."

"Studying on Christmas Eve is pathetic," she said firmly. "Getting drunk, on the other hand, is traditional."

"She's just upset because I won't drink with her," Malfoy said.

She turned on him. "And why, Draco darling, is that?"

He glared at her. "I'm studying, too. I haven't even started yet."

"And it's not because you're concerned you might send an owl you'd regret in the morning?" Pansy asked. "Because that's what you told me this afternoon."

"I said no such thing," Malfoy replied loftily.

She shrugged. "You can pretend however much you want, but I know you're just a little boy in love who's scared his crush doesn't like him back."

His glare intensified. "You only want to get drunk to forget about Blaise."

"I do actually have studying," Harry said, slinking out of his seat. "So I'll just be going."

"Not interested in 'any more' gossip?" Pansy asked.

Malfoy rounded on her. "What do you mean, 'any more'? What have you been saying behind my back?"

"Nothing, stop worrying."

"I'll just leave you to it," Harry said quietly, leaving the Great Hall alone. To study. By himself. On Christmas Eve. Which was every bit as engaging and satisfying as shagging Malfoy senseless would have been.

He sighed. He wouldn't be studying. He'd be thinking about Malfoy and what he was going to say tomorrow and how he was going to react and what he looked like in that suit with the hat, watch and cufflinks Harry had bought him and what he would look like _out_ of the suit and while those things could be considered a certain form of studying, they were not the kind that would help him get his homework done.

Studying.

Right.

**Day Twelve**

**Christmas Day**

**26**

To say Harry woke up would imply he had been asleep. He had been dozing fitfully, images of the past week and a half flying through his head. Malfoy's progression from derisive amusement to legitimate pleasure to guilt or being in love or whatever. How incredulous and disappointed he'd be when he saw it was Harry. The bow he'd taken the first day, after he'd opened the Christmas cracker. Harry finding out he was gay. The conversation he'd had with Pansy about how Malfoy had fallen to pieces over this.

Malfoy's smoky eyes. Shades of grey shifting and overlapping and fading from dark to light to hard to soft and sweet. What they'd look like close up, if Harry's face was just in front of his. How they'd look aroused. How'd they look in the middle of—

But no, Harry wasn't thinking about that. Not this morning. He was wound up enough, the last thing he needed was to think about having sex with Malfoy. No matter how wonderful it would be, no matter how much the thought tugged at his heart and sent shivers down his spine.

He wasn't thinking about the kiss, either. There wasn't going to be a kiss. Malfoy might have said his admirer deserved one, but as soon as he saw it was Harry, he'd change his mind. There was no way. If there was a way, it would only be on the cheek. A brush of his lips against Harry's skin. They always looked so soft, like he hadn't even heard of a thing called chapping. He'd be so close, they'd never been anything even approaching that level of closeness before. Harry would be able to smell any hint of cinnamon, whether from the hair gel or the candies. He'd be wrapped in concentrated Malfoy, a scent he'd only gotten whiffs of from across classrooms. Musky and sweet. Would he keep his eyes open? Would the angles allow him to see his eyes? Would he be able to see anything in them, or would he be as carefully guarded as he always was?

But no, it didn't matter, because there wasn't going to be a kiss.

And yes, that is why Harry hadn't slept very well.

Ron and Hermione came in just before six-thirty. They were obviously trying to be quiet and failed miserably. There was a lot of whispering and giggling, and before they could say or do anything Harry didn't want to hear or see, he announced that he was already awake.

"Oh, good!" Hermione said cheerfully, sitting on the side of his bed. "Merry Christmas!"

Harry mumbled some sort of reply. He sat up and put his glasses on, blinking blearily. Hermione lit the room with a swish of her wand, and Harry saw he had a small but respectable pile of gifts at the end of his bed. When had those gotten there? Hadn't he been awake all night?

Ron was already opening his. "Another sweater from my mum," he announced, trying to sound dejected and failing.

"Yeah, I've got one, too," Harry said, going through the packages. A big, squishy one from the Weasleys, that'd be his sweater. A box from Hagrid; no doubt treacle. Something that looked an awful lot like a book from Hermione. Another box from Ron that was shaking slightly and seemed to be smoking around the edges; Weasley's Wizard Wheezes? Probably.

"Stop guessing and open them," Ron said, barely audible as he chewed on a piece of treacle. "Er, especially mine. Before the package catches on fire."

Harry quickly dispatched of the wrapping paper and they all sat back and watched the fireworks display. Thoughts of Fred Weasley and the fifth year fireworks display kept creeping in, but he pushed them away. As he did when he thought about how much he'd like Malfoy at his side at this particular moment. But he still enjoyed it, especially the finale that left green and red sparks floating through the air.

Then he opened his presents for real, and they were all wonderful and none of them distracted him from what would happen at breakfast and after.

"Hermione, did you already open yours?" Harry asked, pulling on his new Weasley sweater.

"Yes, I brought them to the common room and opened them with Ron," she said. "We would have gotten you, but we thought you deserved as much sleep as you can get."

"That would be none, but thanks anyway," he replied. He gathered the wrapping paper and boxes and was about to toss them when Hermione suddenly grabbed his arm.

"Harry, wait! You missed one!" She pulled out an envelope and turned it over, frowning. "It's not addressed to you," she said. "And it doesn't say who it's from."

"Banish it," Harry said, throwing out his armful of paper and boxes. "I don't want to deal with fans today. I put repelling charms on the windows, I dunno how it got in at all, but I don't want to see it."

"I do," Ron said, moving from his bed to Harry's and attempting to grab it from Hermione. "It'll be funny at best and pathetic at worst. Probably both. Come on, Harry, it'll be great."

"I'm not making fun of any secret admirers," Harry said firmly, shooting Ron a withering gaze. "I'm just ignoring it. Hermione, please? Get rid of it."

"_Depulso sine Draco_," she said, sweeping her wand over the envelope.

It let out a shower of green and silver sparks and remained on the bed.

There was a long, long silence.

"You have to let me—" Ron said.

"He would've addressed it if he knew—" Hermione started at the same time.

"I can't," Harry stated, looking at it like it was about to explode. "I can't open it, and Ron there's no chance in hell you're doing it for me. Hermione, you do it."

"It's your Christmas gift," she said with a smile. "It's for you. Rather, it's for Malfoy's secret admirer, but it amounts to the same. You did hear what I said, about how he doesn't know it's you, right?"

"Yeah, got it," Harry said. "Open it."

"I will not," she said firmly. "It's either you or nobody."

"I'll do it," Ron offered.

"No," Harry said again. "No, you'd—I don't know, but no." He looked up nervously. "Do you really think I should? What if it's like those fire pulls that spurt blue ink?"

"What?" Ron asked, completely mystified. "Fire pull? What's a fire pull?"

Hermione waved him off. "I doubt it is," she replied, though she did look a bit apprehensive. "He's seemed so gracious, I don't think he'd want to mark the person like that. Statistically speaking, the odds of his admirer being here are negligible, so unless he made sure the ink wouldn't come off until he saw it…"

"Yeah, you stopped talking because that's exactly the sort of thing he'd do," Harry said. "Pansy said things, but what if she was just a double agent, sent to spy on my reactions?"

"I noticed you two cozying up yesterday," Ron said. "What were you talking about?"

"Mostly Blaise," Harry replied distractedly. "And how Malfoy's head over heels in love with his admirer. Think about it. She'd never tell me that unless she wanted me to believe it, and she wouldn't care if I believed it unless it was a trap."

"Or she really does like gossiping," Hermione said. "We have seven years' proof of that."

"Can you check it?" Harry asked. "For ink or spells or malicious intent?"

"I can try," she said dubiously. "_Specialis Revello_."

Elegant writing appeared on the envelope.

"Open me," Harry read. "That's not encouraging."

"It's not discouraging," Hermione said. "It didn't curse you, or try to defend itself."

"No, it just wants me to open it," Harry replied irritably. "What was that your dad said, Ron? Never trust anything that can think if you can't see where it keeps its brain? And Hermione, all your whining about the Half-Blood Prince's book? How is this any different?"

"You know who sent it," Ron said.

"_Malfoy_," Harry said slowly. "If that's not cause for concern, I don't know what is."

"Here, Harry, hold still," Hermione said, pointing her wand at him. "_Protego Horribilis. Salvio Hexia._ _Repello Observitus._" Harry glowed blue for a moment and shivered slightly as the magic spread through him. "That should keep you safe and unmarked. Now open the envelope, please. I'm dying of curiosity."

"This is such a bad idea," Harry muttered as he picked up the envelope. Cream, thick paper with a rough grain. He turned it over and slid his finger under the flap. Nothing happened. He opened the flap. Still nothing. He could see the top of a piece of paper peeking out. He looked up.

"Are you sure?" he asked his friends.

"Yes," Ron and Hermione replied at the same time.

Harry took a deep breath. "Okay. Here we go."

With shaking hands he took out the piece of paper. The piece of paper had a small drawing of a holly sprig in the middle. Once again, elegant script wrote across the paper. _Merry Christmas_.

"See?" Hermione said. "Harmless."

The paper rose out of Harry's hands and began to fold in on itself. He watched in fascination as it turned into a bird. The holly sprig floated off the paper, morphed into mistletoe, and hovered over the dove's head. The lettering lifted off the page and floated beneath the dove.

"Oh, that's lovely," Hermione sighed.

Harry didn't have words at all. The scene remained before him, and bells began to chime quietly, several melodies weaving together to create a wizarding Christmas carol Harry barely knew. Not enough to remember what it was called, or the words.

"What song is this?" he asked quietly.

"It's a German song," Ron replied. "Very traditional, but we always sing it in German. _Liebe, Weihnachten Fr__ü__h_. Something about Christmas."

"_Liebe_ means love," Hermione said. "One Valentine's Day my dad looked up how to say 'I love you' in every major European language, memorized them and then—"

"Shh," Harry said. He was captivated by the dove and the chimes and the everything. When the bells stopped the paper unfolded, the words settled onto the page, and the mistletoe landed just beneath them. Then three more lines of script appeared beneath that.

_A joke to a love_

_A sign of fire in snow_

_Reduced to haikus_

The letters faded, leaving only the mistletoe.

Harry flopped backwards onto the bed, staring blankly at his curtains. "Can somebody tell me what just happened?" he asked. "I blacked out for a minute and hallucinated a Christmas card from Malfoy."

"That happened," Hermione said, though she didn't sound entirely sure of herself. "I—I'm pretty sure that just happened."

"Just for today, I take back everything I said about Malfoy," Ron said. "He's not a prick. He's a mush. A pathetic, girly mush. He's—adorable. Good lord."

Harry continued to lie on his back and to stare at his curtains. He wasn't capable of anything else. He closed his eyes. "I'm going to stay in bed," he said. "I know I promised I'd go to breakfast and do the thing, but I'm not going to breakfast and I'm _definitely_ not doing the thing. That was the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me and it was Malfoy who did it and it's never going to happen again, especially not from him, and he's going to take it back if he knows its me so I'm just going to lie in bed. Forever.

"Ron, you don't need to argue with me," he continued. "You're going to remind me I promised to do the thing, and I don't care. If you try to blackmail me into it, here's what's going to happen: you're going to tell me you're going to tell him yourself, and I'll tell you that I don't care because I'm staying in bed, and he did the thing and I don't want to hear him negate the thing in person, not so soon. I know it'll happen whether you tell him or I do the thing, but I'm not doing the thing because it'll negate his thing.

"Hermione, you're probably thinking about how stupid I am for saying 'thing' a million times in a row, and I'm going to tell you right now I don't care," Harry said. "After that, you'll probably try to use this to convince me to do the thing, because you'll argue that since he thinks it's me and he still sent the thing it means something, but you're wrong. He was just fucking with me, he doesn't actually like me. He has no idea who I am. He's obsessing over some guy who isn't me and that's fine, he'll ask him out by New Year's and be happy, and I won't, but right now I am because I have this thing.

"So now that we're done arguing, you two are going to leave, go to breakfast, do your own thing, and I'm going to stay here in bed with my thing, and that's the end of it."

There was silence for a moment.

"Harry?" Ron asked.

"What?"

"You're staying in bed with your thing, because you don't want to lose the feeling of Malfoy's thing?"

Hermione burst into laughter and Harry spent a long time hitting Ron with his pillow.

"Here's what's actually going to happen," Ron said, finally wrestling the pillow from Harry's hands. "You're going to go to breakfast, otherwise I'm not only going to tell Malfoy that you fancy him and you're his admirer, but I'm going to add that you're in bed with your thing thinking about his thing."

"I'm going to go to breakfast then," Harry said. He felt better after taking out his emotions on Ron, and he was also very concerned Ron would do exactly that. "Hermione, we'll meet you in the common room, I've got to get dressed."

She rested a hand on his shoulder. "I'm very proud of you, Harry. After you do your—" She couldn't help a snicker. "—your thing you promised you'd do, we'll be here for you, on the off chance Malfoy's thing wasn't meant for you." She started laughing again as she walked out.

"Sorry, man, but you walked into that," Ron said with a chuckle, changing out of his pajamas.

"We're done talking about it because I'm going to be humiliated enough later," Harry said, digging through his dresser. "He's spent his whole life humiliating me, he even managed to do it today before I've even seen him, and it's only going to get worse from here. So, this _thing_, it's done."

"I'll make you a deal," Ron said. "If he rejects you, I'll never bring it up again. On the other hand, if you end up together, it's the first thing I'm going to say."

"Is that going to cover anything else I say before we leave for breakfast?" Harry asked, still shuffling through his clothes.

"Yeah, fine."

"Okay, deal," he replied. "That's really good because I don't think I have anything to wear and now you're not allowed to blast me for it."

Ron groaned. "Not worth it, but I suppose it's too late. Not going for the Weasley sweater look?" he asked, tugging on his own sweater.

"I have no idea," Harry said. "I literally have no idea. If I dress up for breakfast it'll be too obvious since I'm not doing the _thing_ until later, but I don't want to wear ripped jeans and an old tee shirt, so I'd wear what I usually wear on Christmas morning, but I can't remember what that is."

Ron pushed him aside. "You are a girl," he said, tossing clothes at him. "Both of you, girls. You're completely perfect for each other."

"You're not allowed to make fun of me," Harry said, putting on what Ron gave him. "I told you."

"I'm _dressing _you," Ron said. "But now you look like you're going to kill me, so I'll stop. Making fun of you, I mean, not dressing you."

Harry threw his pillow at Ron.

**27**

"Are you sure?" Harry asked one last time.

"Yes," Ron said. "Hermione, back me up."

"He's right," she said. "You look normal, but slightly better. Your good jeans, a new Weasley sweater, your least ruined sneakers. Come on. I'm hungry."

"Okay," Harry said yet again. "Okay, I'm good."

They walked into the Great Hall. Malfoy, Pansy and Goyle were already there, and they sat with them at the end of the table.

"Merry Christmas," Pansy said cheerfully. She was wearing a headband with reindeer antlers, and a red and green striped sweater. "Blaise broke up with me via owl so we're all going to be super happy and merry and not talk about relationships even a little bit otherwise I'll hex your balls off and, if you don't have any, I'll magically grow you a pair, and then hex them off."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Harry asked, sliding into the seat on the very end, the seat opposite Pansy, the seat farthest away from Malfoy. "I thought he treated you like shit."

Pansy smiled slightly. "You're sweet. But seriously, it's Christmas and I just got dumped."

"Don't you want to talk about it?" Harry pressed. "Isn't that the sort of things girls like to talk about?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Potentially. Why are you so intent on talking about it?"

"Ron and Hermione," Harry said, thinking that if there was one thing Hogwarts had taught him over the years, it was how to make up a good excuse on the spot. "They've been ignoring me since last night, all wrapped up in their couple world. Come on, let's complain about relationships."

She glanced down at Malfoy, who was busy looking for his owl and didn't notice. "Here's the thing. Once Draco gets his gift and finds out who it is, my life is going to become a living hell. Either I'm going to spend the rest of vacation listening to him complain about whoever it is and that it isn't who he wanted, followed by continual whining while I remind him that he promised to ask out his crush by New Years. The other option is that he'll be in a new relationship, his _first_ relationship, in which case I'm just going to kill myself. I have until the post arrives before my entire _life_ becomes about relationships, so I don't want to spend my last few free moments talking about them."

"Or," Harry tried, because he really, _really _needed to be distracted, "you can spend your last few free moments talking about yourself."

"I'll talk about myself," Pansy offered. "I'd be happy to talk about myself. Like this sweater, isn't it cute? I got it over the summer in the Maldives; it's actually their national colors, and this little moon is on their flag," she said, gesturing at the symbol. "It's totally tacky there, but as soon as I saw it, I knew it would be perfect for Christmas. Doesn't it just scream Christmas?"

Harry glared at her. "Okay, fine. Never mind. What do you want to talk about?"

"No, Harry, that's so sweet," she said, resting a hand on his arm. "It means so much to me that you want to hear about my life."

He shook her arm away. "Come off it. If you must know, I have a lot riding on today also, and I could use a distraction."

Pansy laughed. "Oh, I know. The thing with Draco. It's a shame; you and I have actually become almost friends, almost, and in just a moment or two, everything's going to change." She sighed dramatically. "Either you'll never show your face around here again, or I'll have to watch you and my best friend slobber all over each other all the time."

Harry stared at her. "What on earth are you talking about?"

She scoffed. "Please. You started this. We can talk about whatever I want to talk about, or we can talk about how you're Draco's admirer."

Harry sighed. "We've been through this. I'm not."

"Do you want to talk about how you're Draco's admirer?" Pansy asked.

"I suppose if you want, because I'm _not_," he replied.

"No," she said. "We can talk about how you _are_, or we can talk about whatever I want."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine, Pansy. Whatever you want. Note that this is my Christmas gift to you and not because I'm his admirer, because I'm not, and this isn't an admission of that."

Pansy smirked. "Whatever you say. Anyway, so my sweater is from the Maldives. My skirt, though, that I got in London for my very first Christmas at Hogwarts. Pretty impressive that it still fits, no? Not that I haven't grown since then, but it's all been up and, well." Her smirk widened. "You know."

"I'm gay, Pansy. I don't know."

"Post!" Ron called out. He turned to Hermione and kissed her. "Merry Christmas, 'Mione. I love you."

She smiled and kissed him back. "Love you too."

Pansy groaned. "And here we go. Mother of all that is holy, I'm locking myself out of my room and never coming out."

Harry glanced down at Malfoy for a split second, and leaned forward. Very, very quietly, he said, "Can I join?"

"Ha!" she yelled, then immediately clapped her hands over her mouth. The entire table was looking at her. "Sorry, Harry just admitted that I'm hotter than Blaise. Got a bit excited. Go back to your gifts." She turned to Harry. "Yes, we'll get drunk and badmouth Slytherins all night," she whispered back.

"Brilliant," Harry whispered.

They turned to the rest of the table. Everyone was watching as Hermione opened her last gift.

"Is this the same as what you got Draco?" Pansy whispered.

Harry snorted. "No. You'll see why."

Hermione suddenly frowned. "A Honeydukes box?" she asked.

"Open it," Ron said. "Maybe it's not from Honeydukes. Maybe I needed to disguise where it's from."

A small smile formed. "Oh, I see. How very mysterious." She opened the box, and her expression froze. "Ron?"

"It's not what you think," he said quickly. "I mean it is, but it's not for now, and the question I'm going to ask isn't the one you think it is."

"You have approximately three seconds to explain yourself before I freak out," she said, voice unnaturally high.

"Do you like it?" Ron asked.

Pansy was craning her neck. "I can't see. What is it?"

He glared at her. "I wasn't asking you. Hermione. One day, down the road, that isn't now, would you like it?"

"Harry, what—?"

"Shh," he hissed. "This is important."

Hermione remained silent for a long time. Ron was valiantly trying to look positive, but his smile was becoming faker and faker with every moment. The silence got more and more uncomfortable and Harry really wanted to break it but he couldn't. This was Hermione's moment.

"One day?" she asked. "Later?"

"One day later," Ron confirmed.

"One day, later, it would… um," Hermione tried. Then she broke into a huge grin and hugged Ron. "One day, later, it will be perfect."

"Oh thank Merlin," he sighed. "I thought—never mind. Anyway, merry Christmas."

She kissed him firmly. "Merry Christmas."

"Good lord," Malfoy muttered. "Can I have some attention, please? I'd like to open my gift now. My gift that is very thankfully not shaped like an engagement ring box."

"It's not an engagement ring," Ron said. "It's gauging the reaction for what could potentially maybe one day be an engagement ring."

"Whatever," Malfoy said. "It's my turn now." He started unwrapping the package, and Harry's eyes were glued to him and his expression. His hands were balled into tight fists, digging crescents into his palms. Malfoy, on the other hand, looked neutral. He pulled the long, thin box out from the wrapping paper and frowned slightly. "Glass by Gough? I've never heard of it. How is there a shop I've never heard of?"

"Because you're not ineffable?" Harry suggested.

Malfoy threw him a look of disgust, and that was when Harry realized Pansy had been excited to have a drinking buddy and hadn't told him that he was, in fact, the one who Malfoy had been going on about. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, relaxed his hands and rested them on his thighs. He didn't know what he had thought, he knew Malfoy hated him, he _knew_ that, but apparently he'd gotten caught up in everything, and then there was the letter this morning, and it just snowballed and now he was about to burst into tears in the middle of the Great Hall.

Pansy suddenly kicked him, and he rearranged his expression into—well, he wasn't exactly sure, but not utterly miserable. And he opened his eyes. He sent Pansy a grateful look, to which she smiled coyly. Was that a "we're on for drinking" smile? Or an "I just saved you from looking like an idiot" smile? Or any sort of smile at all, he had no idea.

"It's one guy," Pansy said, and it took Harry a minute to realize she was talking to Malfoy and not him. "He's a glassblower, he hasn't got a shop."

Malfoy looked confused. "How do you know about him?"

"Because I like to shop?" she said. "I've got a pair of earrings from him. The blue and green ones."

Malfoy shook his head slightly. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Then open the box and find out," she replied. "You're not an idiot. You can think of these things by yourself."

"Oh shove it," he snapped, and opened the box.

Harry couldn't think, which explained his actions entirely. He quickly scrawled out a note on a piece of parchment under the table and shoved it into Pansy's hands.

Apparently Malfoy couldn't talk either, because he just held up the rose. There was a note tied just below the flower, but Harry couldn't read it.

"Oh, I've seen those," Pansy said excitedly. "It's a real rose with a thin coating of glass blown around it. They keep forever, you know. That'll still be around when the human race is extinct. More importantly, what's the note say?"

"What—no," Malfoy replied, looking closely at the flower. "You can't blow glass _around_ something. Right?"

"Magic," she replied. "Duh. Now read the bloody note!"

"'Merry Christmas from your secret admirer'," he read. "'Meet me on the fifth floor in the corridor behind the Prefects' bathroom at ten.'" He frowned. "There's no corridor back there. The bathroom is in the corner. There are windows on two sides. How can there be anything behind it?"

"You were a Prefect," Ron stated. "I'd think you'd know."

"Well do you know?" Malfoy asked testily.

Ron paused. "Er, no. Hermione?"

"Sorry," she said apologetically.

Pansy sighed dramatically. "Once you get off the stairs, take your first left, then your second left. Walk halfway down the corridor and go through the portrait of the sheep. No password, just push it open. Once you come out of the passage turn right. Then—" Harry kicked her, and she glanced down for a split second. "Sorry, no. Go left. It's been a while since I've been back there. _Then_ you take a right, and you're there. It dead ends at a portrait of a snowy village."

Malfoy looked at her suspiciously. "Uh huh. Why do you know about this exactly?"

"I used to go there to make out," she replied. "It's private. Nobody knows about it."

"And how did you find it?" he asked. "Pansy, please don't tell me you're my admirer."

"For fuck's sake no," she snapped. "Quint Kelley showed me in third year."

"Fine," Malfoy said, though he clearly didn't believe her. "Well, I suppose I know what I'm doing at ten." He took a deep breath. "Okay, so it's someone at Hogwarts. Pansy, Goyle, the second year, or Potter. I don't know who I'm dreading more."

"Dude," Goyle said, severely startling Harry. "Really?"

"Pansy, the second year or Potter," Malfoy amended.

"Seriously?" Pansy asked.

Malfoy groaned. "Fine. The second year or Potter."

"Still?" Harry asked.

Malfoy buried his head in his hands, though he was still holding the rose. "I know it's that bloody second year, I just wanted two and a half hours of peace before I have to face her. Please, just let me delude myself for another two and a half hours."

Pansy winked at Harry, somehow managing not to let anyone else see. "And who, Draco darling, are you deluding yourself it is? Out of those four, lovely people? Obviously I'd be your first choice if you weren't gay, and it's clearly not the second year. So dish. Goyle or Potter?"

"Anybody else," Malfoy said, voice muffled by his hands. "There are secret passages in and out of the school. Maybe someone's sneaking in."

"Nope," Pansy said happily. "You know they've been closed off. The one in the Room of Requirement, too. Security is at an all-time high. Nobody's getting in or out of this school. Goyle or Potter?"

"It could be a professor," Malfoy tried.

"How is that better?" she asked. "Who're you dying to shag that's a professor? Given your proclivities, I'm pretty sure you're limited to Flitwick, Slughorn, Binns, Hagrid, or Filch." She snorted. "I'm so sure. Goyle or Potter? Or should I relist those names loud enough for the professors to hear?"

"Nobody," Malfoy replied. "I want it to be nobody. This is a figment of my imagination. I've been hallucinating this whole time. You slipped me a potion because you thought it would be funny. So I do meet you, but it's so you can tell me I've been duped."

"Sorry, babe," Pansy said. "Not me. Remember that balls hexing off curse I was talking about? I'll ask you one more time before you get to hear that curse up close and personal. Goyle or Potter?"

He looked at her through his fingers. "If they're the last two men on the planet and I have to pick one?"

"In the castle, but yes," she pushed. "Go on."

Malfoy closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "Potter."

Pansy smirked. "That was a really stupid conversation, Draco. You told me months ago. Was it really so hard to admit?"

Malfoy smashed the rose down. It didn't shatter.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," she added. "They're unbreakable."

"I wasn't trying to break it!" he yelled. "I'm just so bloody sick of this crap. There's got to be a way into the castle."

"In your dreams," Pansy said. "Now stop yelling and being dramatic and finish your breakfast. You get cranky when you don't eat, and you're bad enough already."

Amazingly, Malfoy did as she suggested.

Harry was. He was. He had no idea. Going to cry. Going to leap across the table and hug Pansy. Going to leap across the table and snog Malfoy. Going to die. Going to melt into the chair. Going to. To.

Harry was.

He was going to.

Pansy kicked him again.

Harry was going to finish his breakfast. Then he'd freak out for the next two hours and change. After that he'd go to the fifth floor corridor he'd discovered years ago with the help of the Marauder's Map. There he'd be utterly humiliated. When Malfoy was done with him, he'd get really, really drunk with Pansy.

After that?

After that didn't exist, Harry decided as he started to eat his waffles.

"I'm sick of this," Pansy said a few minutes later, slamming her fork down. "Draco sulking and pretending he's not in love with Potter. Weasley and Granger making gaga eyes at each other. Goyle sitting in silence. I was dumped today, you know. But does anyone care? No. Harry's the only one who's made any effort whatsoever to be nice to me." She locked eyes with him, and he didn't miss the twinkle in her eyes. "Harry, wanna get out of here and away from this pathetic lot?"

"Sure," he sighed, heaving himself up and out of his seat. "Whatever. Ron, Hermione, send me a note when you're done shagging. Malfoy—I don't even know what to say to you. Good luck with your secret passage. See you guys for lunch."

He followed Pansy out of the Great Hall and, as soon as they were out of earshot of the Hall, he grabbed her and pulled her into a tight hug.

"You—the notes—" Harry stammered, letting her go. "Thank you."

She smiled. "No problem. In exchange, I'm going to bitch at you for the next two hours and you don't get to say a word."

She started up the stairs and Harry looked after her, confused. "We're going to Gryffindor Tower?" he asked. "I thought the dungeons."

Pansy turned around, shaking her head. "Tsk, tsk Harry, so much to learn. Do you really think you could sneak out of the dungeons at, say, five of ten without being noticed by, I dunno, Draco?"

Harry followed her up the stairs. "All these years I thought you completely daft," he said. "And instead you're brilliant. Where are we going?"

"The Room of Requirement," she said. "It should be safe enough. And thank you, I'm holding you to that. By tomorrow the whole world will know the Golden Boy thinks I'm a genius."

"No, by tomorrow you'll have fried all your brain cells with that homemade Firewhiskey," Harry replied. "Then again, so will I. We're still on for drinking, right?"

"Nope," she said. "You're going to have your hands full of an extremely receptive Slytherin." She paused. "Just to clarify, that wouldn't be me. I'll be drinking alone, like always."

"I won't, and you promised," he retorted. "Please. I'm out of alcohol, and I'm pretty sure my room will be occupied for quite some time."

"You will be," Pansy insisted. "But, so we can go back to talking about me, fine. In the alternate universe where you don't spend the rest of your life with Draco Malfoy, you can join me."

"Thank you," Harry said, stomach sinking as he realized just how wonderful that sounded. He hadn't let himself think about things like the rest of his life, but once it was said, well. That would be just fine by him.

Shame, then, that it would take an alternate universe.

"Let's start with Blaise, shall we?" Pansy said, almost cheerfully. "Let's start with his tiny dick and his incapability to use it correctly."

Harry groaned. Then he remembered that this was better than any of the other ways he could be spending his time. "Okay, go. Tell me about Blaise's penis."

She smiled, then opened the Room of Requirement. There were two comfy couches and a fireplace. Harry slumped into one of the chairs, drawing the blanket he found around himself.

"How kind of you to ask," Pansy said, closing the door and casting a locking spell. "I'd be happy to. Did you know he's not circumcised? So gross."

Still better than watching Ron and Hermione have sex one bed over. Still better than being by himself and letting his thoughts take over. Still better to have a distraction than nothing at all.

"How fascinating," he said flatly. "Do go on."

**28**

Pansy stopped in the middle of a sentence, the sudden silence jerking Harry out of the daze he'd fallen into.

"It's nine-forty," she said. "Are you going to get there early and wait for him or show up late and let him sweat?"

"I, um, early?" Harry asked. He found, now that it was happening, or at least about to happen, he was oddly calm. Yes, that sentence wasn't exactly a real sentence, but his heartbeat was normal, he was breathing regularly, he wasn't sweating, and he was, relatively speaking, calm. On the other hand, his mind was utterly blank, and he was more than happy to let Pansy tell him what to do.

"Late," she corrected. "Draco will no doubt also be arriving late, he wouldn't want to seem overly eager." She laughed. "It's far too late for that, but whatever. I'd say ten-thirty at the earliest."

Harry stared at her. "No," he said. "No, that's way too late. What if he leaves? What if he decides I'm not coming? What if he thinks I'm being rude?"

"What if he thinks you're being pathetic and obsessive?" Pansy countered. "I can guarantee he'll get there no earlier than ten after."

"Then ten-fifteen," Harry countered. "Which is pushing it."

"And what if he waits longer, and you meet up with him on the way to the corridor?" she asked. "Then what?"

"That's why I'm going early," he said firmly. "I'm going early. I should leave now. He already knows I'm pathetic and obsessive, that's nothing new. I have to go." He stood up, and she grabbed his shoulders.

"Wait. Stay still." Pansy circled him, considering. "You're not a total train wreck," she said. "Nor do you scream 'I'm your secret admirer, fall in love with me', but I suppose that was the point. You should look a little more Christmas-y, though. Here, take these." She took off her headband and put it on Harry, then smiled. "There. Much better."

He took it off and threw it onto the chair. "No."

She groaned. "You need _something_."

"I'm going to be humiliated enough as it is," Harry said. "I don't need to look like a bloody Christmas display on top of it."

"Fine, whatever," she said, sounding disgusted. "What are you going to say?"

"I don't know," he replied. "I've been trying not to think about it."

"Men, utterly hopeless, all of you!" she exclaimed. "Think about it this way. You're standing around in your jeans and that sweater monstrosity, and Draco comes around the corner, looking as immaculate as ever. We had a long talk last night and he's not going to be wearing everything you gave him, but he'll have on the watch, and a touch of hair gel. So you look like that, and he looks like he does, and he'll smell of cinnamon, which I know you like, and then he sees it's you. He stops in his tracks, staring, eyes wide, those eyes you can't stop staring at. Maybe his jaw drops a little, enough so your attention is drawn to his lips. What do you do?"

Harry open and closed his mouth several times. "I don't know."

She rolled her eyes. "So you just stand there, staring at him. You can't stop looking at him, so it looks like all you're thinking about is his body. He'll think you only want him for a quick shag, and he'll sneer at you and walk away. Maybe he thinks you're pranking him, and it's not actually you. Or maybe he thinks the whole thing is a joke meant to embarrass and humiliate him. So he starts yelling at you, and when you can't say anything he pulls out his wand and starts hexing you. Then what?"

"I—I don't—"

"Then he drops his wand, strides over to you, grabs you and snogs you senseless. What then?"

Harry glared at her. "Don't. That's not funny."

"We don't have time for me to convince you that he fancies you, so we're going to skip over that," Pansy said. "My point is that you don't want to look like an idiot, so try again. He walks around the corner, sees it's you, and then what?"

"I don't know!" he said again. "It depends on what he does!"

"He stands there looking perfectly composed and utterly neutral," she replied. "He's waiting for you to say or do something."

"'Merry Christmas'?" Harry tried.

"Not a bad start," she said. "Then what?"

"Then he'll say something, right?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Maybe. He can be very quiet when he thinks it'll be to his advantage. Assume he doesn't say anything. What then?"

"'I got the card'," Harry continued. "'It was, er.'" He tried to think of the right adjective. "Um, Pansy, help?"

She was frowning slightly. "Card?" she asked. "What card?"

Harry flushed. "Um, nothing, never mind. I don't have time to explain. He sent his admirer an enchanted Christmas card."

"Then say it was enchanting," Pansy said. "Also, as payment for helping you, I want to see it later on. Anyway, okay. You tell him the card was enchanting. Then?"

"Then he says something and I don't know what," he said. "Really, he can't just stand there without saying anything for forever."

"You'd be surprised," she muttered. "Anyway, okay. Let's say he brags about how easy the magic was and how it's pathetic you think it's enchanting. Don't freak out, that's how he deals with people, by insulting them. You need to be prepared for that."

"I tell him he's pathetic for fawning over the gifts," Harry said. "And for falling in love with someone just because they bought him shiny things."

Pansy laughed. "Okay, good. He'll throw back the love bit, though. Probably accuse you of being in love with him, secretly, for years. Do you admit or deny?"

"He'll have to give me some sort of cute," Harry replied. "He's not made of stone."

She shrugged again. "If you think so. If you want to be early, which I still say is a bad idea, you've got to go now."

"I do," he said firmly. Then he let out a deep breath. "Okay. I'll see you later, then?"

"Good luck," she said. "And remember that he's already in love with you. All you've got to do is not screw it up."

"You're a liar, but thanks," Harry said, opening the door. He wavered.

"Go!" Pansy commanded. "Either go now, or risk running into him on the way there, or do what I said and arrive late. But make up your mind!"

"I'm going!" Harry exclaimed, walking out the door and slamming it closed. It took a moment, but he forced his feet forward. And then he was on his way.

**29**

Harry did get to the corridor before Malfoy, and he didn't run into him on the way. He fidgeted. He paced. He spent a long time staring at the painting of the snow village. He cast a _Tempus_ charm and only two minutes had passed.

Harry took a deep breath. He sat down, leaning against the wall. He took out his wand and, needing to do something, waved it at the ceiling. Sparkling snow started to fall, disappearing seven or eight feet above the ground. He watched the snow falling, watched as it danced and twirled though the air. He was pleased with himself at how well the spell had come out; he'd only seen Professor Flitwick do it once or twice before, but apparently it had stuck in his head. He thought about further decorating the corridor but that seemed crass, and also he hadn't been thinking when he conjured the snow, so it didn't count.

He heard the footsteps before they rounded the corner, and Harry had a panicked moment where he seriously considered trying to apparate off campus, regardless of how impossible it was, and then casting a Disillusionment charm before remembering that was just camouflage, and finally blasting a hole in the side of the castle and leaping out, no matter how high off the ground he was.

Then Malfoy rounded the corner and Pansy had been right, he did look flawless. Black sweater, tight black slacks, the watch on one wrist, hair slicked back with cinnamon gel, shimmering slightly. He was momentarily distracted by the snow, and then looked at Harry.

There was absolute silence.

Malfoy was the first to speak. "So it is you."

"No," Harry said immediately, which was really stupid.

"Ah, okay," Malfoy replied, advancing down the corridor. "My mistake."

Harry watched the snow fall.

Malfoy sat next to him, crossing his legs, looking very proper.

Harry looked at him. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting for my admirer," Malfoy replied. "And you?"

"Making it snow," Harry said.

"In this particular corridor at precisely ten o'clock?" Malfoy asked.

Harry paused. "Yes."

Malfoy closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. "Fair enough."

Okay. So. This was what exactly? The first phase of teasing? The beginnings of his humiliation? Never mind that he had started the lies, it was clearly Malfoy's fault.

Harry forced his mind blank and forced himself to watch the snow.

"Any idea when my admirer will show up?" Malfoy asked after a few moments. "It's rather chilly. Perhaps I should fetch a warmer sweater and return. I do not wish to miss my admirer though."

"I'm sure they'll be along soon," Harry said. He cast another _Tempus_. "It's only five past. Maybe they want to show up late so you don't think they're overly excited."

Malfoy smiled slightly. Merlin he looked gorgeous. "Sounds like something Pansy would say. Do you expect my admirer has been talking to her? Getting advice?"

"Yeah, I'd imagine so," Harry replied.

"It's stupid advice," Malfoy said. "It's clear they're excited given the caliber of gifts. I'd think it a much better idea to arrive early. A relationship founded on a lack of punctuality is doomed to fail."

"I—yeah, that's what I thought," Harry stammered. Relationship? What?

Malfoy opened his eyes and looked at Harry. "Was my admirer asking for advice from you as well?"

"In a manner of speaking," Harry replied.

"I assume they spoke with Weasley," Malfoy said, keeping his eyes on Harry's. "Since my gifts mirrored Granger's, at least at times. You as well?"

"Ron and I were in the same room while they talked," Harry said, being careful not to lie. "I might've let an opinion or two slip."

"Hmm," Malfoy considered, closing his eyes again. "Romantic advice from Weasley, Potter and Pansy. No wonder I got such sappy gifts."

"From what I could tell, you seemed to like them well enough," Harry replied, keeping his voice even.

Malfoy smiled again. "I never said I minded sappy. I've followed a note to a hidden corridor that shouldn't exist, and now it's snowing. Besides, I may have sent my own gift this morning."

"Oh?" Harry asked neutrally.

"Mhm," Malfoy replied. "Interesting how Pansy kept looking down while she gave me directions, don't you think? It's almost like she was reading off a cue card."

Harry shrugged. "Your admirer probably just got her help with that, too." He paused. "How could you send a gift when you don't know who it's for?"

"I told my owl to deliver it," Malfoy said. "There's no secret keeping between owls. After he delivered it, I told him to come straight back to me, so I could gauge how far my admirer is. Definitely in the castle."

"Sorry, then," Harry said. "Must be the second year."

Malfoy sighed lightly. "I suppose. I'll have to let her down gently, I promised Pansy I wouldn't be mean."

"Just tell her you're not interested in girls," Harry suggested.

"I suppose," Malfoy repeated. "Still, though, I have my doubts." He checked his watch. "Ten past. Slytherins aren't known for being late."

"Maybe she's nervous," Harry said.

"Quite likely," Malfoy replied. "She's hardly spoken to me at all, and not at all since the gifts started." He smiled again. "Twelve days of Christmas. I'm actually rather enamored with the idea. If it wasn't a twelve year old girl, I would be very interested."

"Pansy said you already fancy someone," Harry said, straying into dangerous territory. As if this whole conversation wasn't one big snake pit. "Has your admirer been so successful that they've distracted you?"

"I'm interested," Malfoy replied. "Pansy also insists the person I fancy is my admirer, that they told her themselves."

"I don't know why anyone would trust Pansy with a secret," Harry said, a bit sharply.

"I agree entirely," Malfoy said. "She must be lying. Though…" He smiled again. He was _so_ beautiful when he smiled. "Though it's not entirely possible she's wrong. In fact, with each passing minute I think it more likely."

Harry wondered if Malfoy could hear his heart beating. Probably. "Yeah?"

"It's a possibility," Malfoy granted. "Fifteen past. Either my admirer got scared and decided not to show, or it is indeed who I fancy."

Harry froze. "Why'd you think that?"

"I have my reasons," Malfoy replied. "I won't say why, though. If my admirer wants me to know who they are, they'll tell me. They started this, it's up to them to finish it. I won't ask them, or tell them I fancy them. That's their job."

"And if they are scared?" Harry asked.

"If they cannot gather the courage to face me now, they're not nearly as impressive as I thought," Malfoy said. "Not worth my time at all."

"But all the build up?" Harry pressed. "You'd just let it go?"

"I'll tell you a secret," Malfoy said, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I have reason to believe they can hear this conversation. I have said I would want to be with them. If, after all that, they still can't approach me, they're just pathetic."

"You haven't actually said that," Harry pointed out. "You said you might be interested, and you said you already fancy someone. That could be intimidating."

"I _am_ intimidating," Malfoy said. "That's something they'll have to come to terms with. What do they want? A declaration of love?" He opened his eyes again, looked at Harry again. Smoky and dancing and sparkling like the snow that still fell.

"I'm sure they wouldn't mind," Harry said.

"Is that what _you_ want, Potter?" Malfoy asked quietly. "For me to declare myself?"

"It might make things easier," Harry answered. "For your admirer."

Malfoy's eyes lingered on his for another moment before once again closing. "Too bad I don't make things easy, then."

"How long are you going to wait, then?" Harry asked. "If you're so intimidating and difficult, it's hard to see you camping out."

"I told you, I have a suspicion they can hear me," he said. "If they can, they'll know I need them to step up and be a man—or a woman, I suppose, but hopefully a man. Given that I've announced this, and they still haven't come forward, I think it's about time I be on my way." His eyes opened and he turned so he was fully facing Harry. "Unless you can think of a reason why I should wait."

Harry almost couldn't answer. "I heard you're reduced to haikus," he forced out. "Maybe, if you're so desperate, you wouldn't be able to make yourself leave."

Malfoy smiled, eyes glittering. "You heard that? Pansy tell you?"

"No," Harry replied.

"Weasley, then? Since he's so clearly in on this?" Malfoy asked.

"No," Harry repeated.

"Ah," Malfoy said. "Then I do believe my suspicions have been confirmed."

"Suspicions?" Harry asked.

"Indeed." The smoke of Malfoy's eyes solidified into a warm, light grey. Very light clouds. Ocean worn stones. Icebergs, if icebergs weren't so cold. "But, like I said, I won't do anything. It's my admirer's decision."

It was really too bad that Harry couldn't move, because Malfoy was right there, leaning towards him, looking entirely receptive. "I—"

"Yes?" Malfoy asked quietly.

Harry licked his lips. "Yes."

Malfoy's eyes brightened. The silver of his watch. Freshly polished marble. A candleholder, and the flame. "Yes what, Potter?"

Harry remembered what he was going to say. "Merry Christmas."

Malfoy nodded slightly. "Merry Christmas."

What had Harry told Pansy he'd say after that? He knew he'd said something, she'd made him. Something about the card, but they'd already talked about that. Malfoy was so close. How was he expected to say anything? Why was Malfoy playing with him? It was obvious he already knew, so why couldn't he just say it. "As a Christmas present," Harry said, voice cracking. He cleared his throat. "To me. Tell your admirer you fancy them."

"And why would that be a suitable gift for you?" Malfoy asked.

"You know why," Harry said quietly. "Whoever this is, they've put so much work into it and so much effort. The least you can do is take the last step."

"Last step?" Malfoy asked. "I'd think it would be more of a first step than a last."

Harry swallowed. "The first, then. And you said things."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "What things?"

"You'd give them a chance," Harry said. "You'd talk. _You_ would. A—and. And a kiss."

Malfoy smiled. "I did say those things. I suppose, if it's so very important to you, I could act first."

"It is," Harry said. "Important. To me."

Malfoy leaned forward, and Harry closed his eyes, holding his breath. Warm lips, as soft as he'd imagined, brush his cheek. He was close to panic—why had it been on the cheek instead of the lips?—when his lips settled against his ear. "Tell me you're my admirer," Malfoy breathed. "I kissed you, I went first, and now I want to hear it."

Malfoy's cheek was pressed against his own. Again, impossibly smooth skin. The smell of cinnamon and musk and something sweet. Vanilla, Harry thought. "It's me," he whispered. "I'm your admirer. I got your card. I—"

Malfoy kissed just below his ear. "You what?"

Harry sighed. "I want you. I want you to want me. I want you to—to ask me out. Properly. Without hiding behind some outdated tradition like I did. And I want a real kiss."

Malfoy's hand was on his face, and how was he so _soft_? Harry couldn't get his head around it. Long, confident fingers turned Harry so they were facing and then Malfoy's lips were on his own, still so soft, and Harry whimpered slightly, nearly shaking with the force of his want, the reality of the situation.

"Harry," Malfoy said quietly. "Harry Potter, will you go out with me?"

"Yes," Harry said immediately, finally opening his eyes. Malfoy was so close, his eyes endless, like a black and white photograph of the sky, going on forever. "Kiss me again."

Malfoy smiled slightly. "I'm afraid not. I did as you asked, I took the first step, and a few more after that. It's your turn."

Harry rested one hand on the back of Malfoy's neck and buried the other in his—of course, very soft—hair. Even though he was sure he was physically shaking and he thought it impossible that Malfoy didn't notice, he kissed him, first just their lips pressing together again, then deepening the kiss and tasting the cinnamon on his tongue and memorizing his mouth on the off chance this was all a joke and Malfoy was about to pull away and humiliate him, but that didn't happen. Instead they kissed, and when they could no longer breathe Malfoy pulled back slightly and rested his forehead against Harry's.

"That day in Diagon Alley—" Malfoy started.

Harry laughed breathlessly. "Yeah, I know. Me too."

"We should have done this then."

"Doesn't matter," Harry said, stealing another kiss. "We're doing it now."

"I believe I misspoke earlier," Malfoy said, gently stroking Harry's cheek as he talked. "While I wished you a merry Christmas, I failed to say what I really meant."

"Oh?" Harry asked, caring less and less the longer Malfoy talked, the longer he wasn't being kissed.

"What I should have said," Malfoy continued, "is merry Christmas _Harry_. Thank you for gifts, they were all wonderful, unexpected and extravagant. My card doesn't begin to come close to a proper gift, but I'm afraid you'll have to wait on that until I can go to Hogsmeade. As for falling in love with my admirer, well, I'll save those words for another day, they're not becoming for a first date. But really, most importantly, what I'm trying to say amidst my blabbering, is merry Christmas Harry."

Harry kissed him again, needing the physical confirmation that this was real. "Merry Christmas, Draco."

After that, they spent a very long time not talking.

**30**

"They're not coming," Ron said.

"Of course they are," Hermione replied. "They've been busy burning calories. They need to eat."

"They're _still_ busy burning calories," Ron countered, looking rather disgusted. "Dinner, maybe. But not lunch."

"They'll be here," Pansy said confidently. "Draco will need to show off that he finally got the boy. He'll take all the credit, mark my words."

"Not coming," Ron repeated.

"They will, and it will be disgusting and we'll all have to watch, and—" Pansy cut off, eyes fixed on the doorway of the Great Hall.

Harry and Draco walked in together. They weren't holding hands, they weren't flushed, and not a hair was out of place.

"They must have, right?" Hermione whispered nervously. "You—you don't think Malfoy turned him down?"

Pansy shook her head and started to reply when the boys sat together on the other side of the table. It had been engineered so Pansy was sitting next to Hermione who was next to Ron, leaving only Goyle on the other side, so they'd be forced to sit together.

"Pansy, would you pass the eggnog?" Harry asked.

She eyed him carefully. "Sure."

"Thank you," he said pleasantly, pouring himself a glass.

"Weasley, the potatoes?" Draco asked, not bothering to thank him as he silently passed over the bowl.

After that there was silence, broken only by the clinking of tableware against plates as Harry and Draco ate while the other four watched.

Eventually Harry let a small smile slip onto his face. He turned to Draco. "Do you—should we?"

Draco grinned. "I've been waiting for you to ask." He pulled Harry into a kiss that started out chaste and morphed into anything but. Pansy clapped for a moment and Ron let out a whistle, and then, when they didn't break apart, Pansy groaned.

"Slobbering, I told you," she muttered, going back to her lunch.

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy!" Professor McGonagall called from the other end of the table, finally causing the kiss to stop. "While I am glad you have resolved your differences, lunchtime is hardly the time or the place for such activities."

"Sorry, professor," Harry said, though he didn't look it a bit.

"I'm not," Draco said quietly, still grinned.

"Good lord," Pansy said, poking at her potatoes. "This is going to be even worse than I thought."

**The end.**

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